


The Stars Aligned, or the Long, Slow Seduction of Quentin Coldwater

by charlotteschaos, prettyclever



Series: The Stars Aligned [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alice Quinn's secret inner seductress, Astrology, Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, No cheating, Public Sex, Quentin Coldwater must be protected at all costs, Sex Magic, Shower Sex, Strap-Ons, Summer Vacation, The Magicians Season 1 AU, brakebills au, but magical too, dinner date, eliot and margo take quentin on vacation, eliot is smitten, encanto oculto, getting booed up at encanto is missing the point but hey, high-strung super nerds, in which Eliot is a little woo-woo, margo is the world's best wingman, polyamory is fun and no one is upset, quentin is oblivious, sassy bisexuals, the Malice is real, they do what they do, villa life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-07-23 09:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 75,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20005726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyclever/pseuds/prettyclever
Summary: Quentin is a smol, adorable puppy of a man, and Eliot is smitten. Margo facilitates Eliot getting what he wants. Quentin doesn't entirely know what to do with himself.In this s1 AU, there is no Brakebills South Qualice romance, nothing is dangerous or sad, and Eliot and Margo take Quentin on vacation to Encanto Oculto with them. Also, as much as Margo enjoys the whole threesome angle with Quentin and Eliot, she's got her eye on a high-strung supernerd of her own... Alice Quinn.Please be advised that this has somehow become a fake boyfriends story. I'm sorry/You're welcome.





	1. A Dinner Date in Middle-Earth

Finals sucked. Eliot wasn’t super into school anyway, just in general, but finals were especially tedious. Everyone studied so hard they lost all semblance of personality, and Eliot could only take so much of that.

Not that Eliot didn’t love learning—he definitely did—but the book smarts part was less compelling to him than the practical application, which he tended to excel at just in general. He was more of a kinesthetic learner maybe.

The best thing about finals week had been Quentin Coldwater, just… bar none, par excellence. Quentin and his adorable shocked little face, his awkward eagerness for affection, his complete self-consciousness around Eliot after the birthday blowie. It was _precious_ , and Eliot could not get enough of it. He’d started running into Quentin on purpose just to see how shyly Quentin would react.

Fortunately, they’d already arranged to go to dinner together after finals, so Eliot had that to look forward to throughout the post-blowjob finals tedium. He consulted his closet and his astrological chart and considered several different looks, although he knew ultimately he’d just let Margo make the final call about his apparel. He trusted her.

Margo was the world’s best wingman, and Eliot had a feeling he’d never have gotten Q’s dick in his mouth without her assistance. Quentin held Margo in a certain doe-eyed reverence, like he didn’t entirely know how to disagree with her about anything. Of course, Eliot felt much the same about his Bambi. Facts were facts. Margo was a goddess.

After Quentin’s last final was over, Eliot and Margo were waiting for him outside his class while carefully maintaining the illusion they were just on their way from the library.

“Dinner tonight. Reservation at seven,” Eliot called out, loud enough all Q’s classmates could hear because what was the point of dating Quentin if everyone didn’t know about it? Then, smiling, he added, “You’re paying,” just in case Quentin had forgotten.

Without really giving Quentin a chance to respond, Eliot breezed past with Margo on his arm, grinning at her conspiratorially as they made their way back to the Physical cottage. He made her a custom cocktail at the bar—glowing blue, a little sweet and a lot sour, magically potent with a component that enhanced mood and restored energy—and then made a second for himself so they could imbibe as they lounged around each other’s bedrooms getting ready. While Quentin would probably be dressed in ten minutes, they had a _regimen_ to follow.

The natal chart really had suggested he and Quentin were extremely compatible, but it warned that if they had a communication breakdown, everything would fall apart. Eliot wasn’t entirely certain how to make that work. It was so _vague_. What did it mean when it said _your sex life will reflect your emotional connection or lack thereof?_

Not that Eliot was averse to an emotional connection with Quentin—they already _had_ an emotional connection, didn’t they? They were friends—but the natal chart made it sound so fucking deep, like they were destined to fall in love and have dark, kinky mind-blowing Cancer/Scorpio sex if Eliot somehow managed not to freak Quentin out in the meantime.

Which was where Margo came in. She could temper his urge to rush. Right? Margo grounded him.

Sometimes in the parental sense, when Eliot got too out of hand, but he wasn’t thinking about that now.

“So,” Eliot said, a standard opening gambit once they were alone, “what are our chances of getting Quentin out of his pants tonight? Should I prepare for a protracted charm offensive?”

“Honey, he’s not hard to get out of his pants. It’s getting them back on that’s going to be your problem once this whole thing goes down.” Margo smirked as she held up a dress to herself, looking in the mirror. She turned slightly toward Eliot as if she cared what he thought. Sometimes she did take his input. Depended on her whim, it seemed. “Really depends on how you want him out of his pants. If you just want to fuck him, easy enough.”

She turned and gave him a more wicked look as she tossed down one dress and picked up another. “But you _like_ him, don’t you?”

Eliot bridled at the implication and huffed at her quite pointedly. “We both like him. It’s hardly a meaningful statement.”

He sipped his drink, letting it buoy his mood, and added, “That one’s good on you, especially if you do an updo. Elongates your neckline. Makes you look taller.”

“What do I need to look taller for?” Margo rolled her eyes and tossed the dress aside, so apparently she was in one of _those_ moods. “I like him, Eliot. But you _like_ him, don’t you? All that bullshit with your natal charts. What are you gonna do, marry a first year?”

“What?” A frisson of panic made Eliot bolt upright and stare at Margo. “What the fuck would make you say that? With the _m-word_ and—That’s inappropriate, Bambi, and I think you know it. I demand an apology.”

Margo picked up a slinky red dress and then set it aside more carefully as if that was what she was going to wear. She came over to Eliot and crawled into his lap, gazing down at him with that wickedly amused little smile of hers. “Answer the question, dickwad. Is this a roll in the hay or are we talking boyfriend material?”

“Excuse me, did you apologize somewhere in there? Because I distinctly feel I did not hear an apology.” Eliot averted his face from hers even as he wrapped his arms around her, clinging just a little as they entered uncharted emotional waters.

The natal chart had warned him about this too. Apparently his Scorpio self would repress emotions and refuse to acknowledge salient truths regarding relationships. So really, even the stars suggested Margo was right—Margo was _always_ right—but Eliot held out for some reason, unable to quite help himself.

“You want my apology, or you want my help? You can have one or the other.” She squeezed his head against her breasts, a little hard as if it was a warning, and then she released him and grabbed his chin to tilt his head up to her. “It’s up to you. But I’m not going to sit here on your lap all night nursing you. So big boy pants time. What do you want from him?”

“Is there something between friends-with-benefits and boyfriends? Something less…commitment-oriented but equally solid? I don’t want him to think we’re on the m-word fast track, but I do have ambitions toward possible exclusivity with a Margo-only exception clause, as per my standard requirements.” Eliot babbled, and he knew he was babbling, but he felt like if he just spewed enough words fast enough he could hide behind them like a shield while Margo seemed determined to pare him down to pure intention, which was nothing Eliot was interested in discussing.

Margo rolled her eyes and slipped off Eliot’s lap and proceeded to undress. “Yeah, there is. He seemed to like the kissing; you should go with that. He seems like a nice boy. He already got the goods, and now he’s taking you on a date. Well, us. See if you like him still after dinner. Then maybe he can come with us on our summer trip.”

“I wouldn’t date a boy that didn’t take _us_ on a date,” Eliot asserted staunchly, eyeing Margo’s mostly naked body with the air of an art critic. As if there was anything to criticize. She was flawless.

Maybe not literally, but Eliot couldn’t see her except with hearts in his eyes. So flawless.

“So the red dress?” he asked, glancing toward it. “You know red’s my favorite color on you. I’m going to have to go all out if I want Quentin to look at me twice with you sitting there.”

Then it sank in what Margo had suggested, and Eliot’s ears burned with flustered excitement. “You’d be willing to take him on vacation with us?”

“I think we’re going to have to if we don’t want him to keep making googly eyes at Alice. But first let’s see if he can handle basic dinner conversation, right?” She raised a brow and picked up the dress as if she was considering not wearing it now that Eliot had complimented it. But then she relented and stepped into it, pulling it up and over her curves before turning around for him to zip her in. She held her hair up and out of the way. “He’s going to need an awful lot of work, you know.”

“I like a fixer-upper,” Eliot said drolly as he grasped the base of the zipper and tugged the slide upward, using both hands and adjusting the drape of the fabric as he went. When all was secured to his satisfaction, he leaned in to kiss Margo’s nape and then wrapped his arms around her from behind, chin tucked atop her head. “We could help him grow into the fabulous bisexual nerd king he was always meant to be.”

After a beat, he added, “You’d finally have someone to geek out about those fantasy books with, Bambi. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Just picture it: you, me, Quentin, lounging poolside, drinking daiquiris, the two of you rambling about Fillory while I admire how extremely attractive you both are and comprehend one word in ten?”

“I guess. It’s just…” Margo turned around and put her hands on Eliot’s chest as she pouted up at him. “He’s just a puppy. He’s going to piddle all over the floor and chew the furniture. Are you sure you’re ready for that kind of responsibility?”

Eliot considered that for a moment. He could feel his expression melting, going embarrassingly soft, and he whispered pleadingly, “So _cute_.”

“All right then. Let’s get you into something tactile and dramatic. A nice velvet. Simple, though. And elegant. You need to look regal but also soft. He loves to touch things. Too much skin will seem too personal. Give him something where he can touch you while not touching you. Start luring him out that way.” She reached up and pushed Eliot’s hair into place. “Let’s go get you your dog.”

By the time Eliot was dressed to Margo’s specifications—velvet trousers, velvet coat, silk shirt, silk waistcoat—and his curls were tousled to perfection, it was time to swing by Quentin’s room to pick him up. Eliot kept one hand at Margo’s waist as he knocked at Quentin’s door, hoping silently that Quentin would emerge wearing something a little more date-appropriate than a dingy hoodie.

“Q? Your carriage awaits,” he called, ignoring the little flare of nerves in his belly.

Quentin answered in a blue dress shirt that could’ve done with a better ironing that was one or two sizes too big for him under a suit jacket that fit him better. When he took in how Margo and Eliot were dressed, he quickly started tucking his shirt into his black slacks. “Oh, I guess I should’ve asked where we were going. Do I need a tie?”

Margo let out a soft sigh and said, “Aww puppies really are _so cute_. He tried, Eliot.”

“He did,” Eliot agreed, hugging Margo sideways as he eyed Quentin head to toe. “I don’t suppose you have a cute plaid bow tie to add just a pop of color? It would really suit your dudded-up nerd vibe. Adorable, by the way.”

“Um, yeah?” Quentin backed into his room and started to look wildly around as if a bow tie might magically appear in the air. “I just have regular ties. You know, tie ties?”

“Of course you do.” Margo followed Quentin into the room and made her way to his closet. “It is a bisexual disaster in here.”

“A what?” Quentin’s cheeks flushed as he followed her.

She put her hand on Quentin’s chest to stop him. “Oh no, we’re here. No more closet for you, little Q. Let’s see… a bow tie. I can make that happen.”

“He can always wear one of mine,” Eliot volunteered, lounging in the doorway, shoulder propped against the molding. He raised a brow at Quentin and smiled wickedly. “I could see you all tied up in silk. I’ve got so many. It’s not like I’d miss just one…”

What Eliot really wanted to do was a quick tailoring charm to bring Quentin’s blousy shirt in so it tapered properly around his waist and the collar wasn’t too big for his slender neck nor the cuffs for his delicate wrists, but he thought that might be coming on too strong. That, and it might make Quentin feel unattractive, and that was the last thing Eliot wanted. Quentin was entirely too down on himself anyway, and it was _criminal_.

“Um, tied up? What? I thought… we were going to dinner?” Quentin looked between them, eyes wide.

“Don’t wet yourself, Coldwater.” Margo peeked out from the closet and smirked at Eliot. “Notice how he didn’t say no?”

A wicked laugh bubbled from Eliot’s throat as he looked between them, and he resisted the urge to adjust his stirring cock. _Well, well, well_. “Be right back.”

He dashed back to his room, selected a colorful plaid bow tie, and returned to Quentin’s room, the little slip of fabric draped across his hand. “Do you know how to wear one of these, or shall Daddy do it for you?”

“My dad’s not here.” Quentin turned to Eliot, looking puzzled in that charming way he had when he was getting frazzled. “You’re not going to um… tie me up, are you? I haven’t eaten.”

Margo slipped behind Quentin and propped his collar up so Eliot could more easily put the bowtie on him. “Already collaring your pup. Mama’s so proud. Don’t worry, we aren’t going to let you starve.”

Suppressing laughter, Eliot slipped the tie around Quentin’s neck, nestling it against the base of his shirt just so and smoothing it as he gazed down at Quentin. “You’re too…too, Q. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do with you, but I can promise you’ll enjoy it,” Eliot murmured as he knotted the tie into a neat bow.

Then he stepped back and let Margo fix Quentin’s collar and turn him toward the mirror. That one little accessory made all the difference in Quentin’s outfit. It took him from sloppy and poorly tailored to…well, poorly tailored and eccentric, which was infinitely hotter.

“Mm,” Eliot hummed approvingly. “We can be seen with this publicly, can’t we, Bambi?”

Margo moved to Quentin’s side to look in the mirror with Quentin. Eliot peered over the two of them, and it really was a very adorable family picture.

She turned to Quentin and slid her hand down his pants, pushing more of his shirt in and smoothing out the wrinkles he’d left where the fabric gathered.

“Whoa, hey! What are you—” Quentin held his hands up but notably wasn’t batting her away.

“You should be so lucky, Coldwater.” Margo finished straightening out his tucked-in shirt and then gave his package a light squeeze before slapping his ass. “All right. We’re cleared to go. You have the portal ready, El?”

“Mm, so ready,” Eliot purred, giving Margo his best smile and leaning in to kiss her temple before turning the same attention on Quentin, who seemed a little more startled by it. Then he held out his arms for them to take his elbows so he could escort them down to the portal he’d had set up in the dining room of the cottage.

All eyes were on them as they descended the stairs together, which was how it generally was when Margo and Eliot did anything at all, but the addition of Quentin to their dynamic seemed to warrant further study from most of the onlookers. Eliot lifted his chin, proud to be seen with his companions, and guided them benevolently toward the portal past the Physical Kids now drinking and goofing off, celebrating the end of finals and, perhaps, preparing to head home between semesters.

“So, Quentin, prepare yourself. It’s portal time.” Eliot marched them to the rear of the dining room and released them to usher first Margo and then Quentin through the glimmering loop in the world. Once they were in, he looked back at the other Physical Kids and called, “As you were,” before stepping through into the pocket dimension.

The maître d' approached them wearing a beautifully cut suit and looking far more elegant than Eliot had expected. Of course, he’d never been here before—it was a magical pop-up restaurant—but he’d heard such wonderful things. She held up a magical lens, ostensibly to make certain they were who they appeared to be—security was tight at these things—and then nodded to the waiter standing by.

Eliot let Margo announce them—"Party of three, Margo Hanson”—and then they were escorted down a squat, round-ceilinged hallway that reminded Eliot very much of a hobbit hole as seen in a Peter Jackson blockbuster. The rare windows opened onto sunset fields of tall grass and wildflowers. It was like a fantasy-lover’s dream. Even Eliot was impressed, and he didn’t have nearly their appetite for that foolishness.

The bizarre hallway situation involved a lot of round doorways that ostensibly held other dining rooms, but they were led unerringly toward one at the end and ushered inside.

Inside did _not_ match the outside. It was open to the sky, half stars and half sunset clouds, the moon just beginning its ascent. The air smelled pure and clean, like the snow-capped mountains visible in the distance. It was, quite honestly, breathtaking, completely without walls to hem it in, bounded only by meadow and that single round door that would lead back into the hobbit hole hallway.

The table itself was round wood, its top carved with runes just visible beneath a lace tablecloth. Their chairs sat around it, equidistant, meaning they could each sit beside each other, which was truly ideal. Before they’d even taken a seat—the waiter rushed to take Margo’s chair for her, so Eliot took Quentin’s—a sommelier appeared with a decanter of glistening red wine in hand, no doubt magical in some way.

Quentin kept looking around like he was a little dazed by the whole thing, wide-eyed with amazement as he often was before something disillusioned him. It reminded Eliot of the way Quentin had looked at him that first time, amazed and overwhelmed. Eliot was never really sure if that was him—he _was_ doing his sexy smoking pose—or if it was walking into a whole new world of magic. Probably the magic, right?

At least this time Q wasn’t asking if he was hallucinating. “You know, Plover was a contemporary of Tolkien. Obviously, the Tolkien books became a lot more popular than the Fillory books.”

Margo smiled and rested her hand on Quentin’s. “I know, sweetie. I loved those books.”

“Yeah, you told me that before you roofied me, didn’t you?” Quentin frowned as Margo laughed.

“The trials were part of your education. And it wasn’t a roofie. Come on, the semester’s over. We’re having a nice night out. Let’s not get all accusey about who drugged who.” Margo nodded to the waiter as he handed her a menu.

He was a well-dressed, small peasant with bare, hairy, oversized feet.

“A hobbit?” Quentin asked, way too enthusiastic.

“Yes, sir.” The waiter nodded, looking somewhere between amused and wary, and handed Quentin his menu before moving along to pass Eliot his.

The menus were on golden parchment, done up in calligraphy and illumination. It was one of those menus without prices, just a couple of options for each course, of which there were many, which tracked. Hobbits. They loved to eat, right? That was one of those hobbit things?

As the others pored over the menu, Eliot gestured for the sommelier, who was, he assumed in context, an elf. Tall, lovely, with long hair and dressed in a draped robe. She seemed to float as she walked over and poured a small amount of the red wine into Eliot’s glass. He swirled it, sniffed it, considered it, and then took a sip.

“ _Ohh_ ,” he sighed, enraptured. It shorted him out for a moment, and then he motioned for the sommelier to pour for the others as he tried to form words about how it made him feel.

The sommelier, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to say, but she started saying it in what Eliot assumed was elvish, so it was lost on him. This was some deep nerd shit. If not for the glorious humming under his skin from the wine, he might’ve been miffed.

Then, somehow, he _could_ understand, which… What? Because Eliot spoke a lot of languages with passable fluency, but none of them were fucking elvish.

However, he definitely understood because the sommelier was going on about the nuances of the terroir and how the grapes were all grown in the fields of the pocket dimension under carefully controlled Middle-Earth simulated environmental factors. Then she pointed to the menus and suggested which wines should accompany each of the different options and described their flavor profiles, the glorious humming under Eliot’s skin intensified until he felt absolutely giddy and thought—for the very first time—maybe there was something to all this Middle-Earth nonsense after all.

Quentin, who had not yet drunk the wine, seemed to understand everything she said, too. Which, nerd king that he was, he would. But Margo also nodded along and sometimes Eliot forgot what a nerd she could be as well.

She turned to explain to Eliot, saw the look on his face, and went for her glass. “Looks like it’s the good shit no matter what the nuances are.”

She gestured for Quentin to pick up his glass, which he did a little clumsily, his eyes bright and a huge grin on his face.

“Hobbits are real. And Elves!” Quentin looked up at the sommelier in what appeared to be ecstatic glee, an expression Eliot hadn’t seen since he blew Quentin on his birthday. He took a sip of the wine before reaching out to shake the waiter’s hand. Quentin turned in his chair and tried to get up, but the wine apparently hit him, leaving him gripping the chair tightly.

“They don’t let him off the farm much,” Margo quipped at the bafflement of the restaurant staff. She shielded her mouth with one hand and whispered, “He’s a first year.”

The hobbit and the elf nodded. It probably wasn’t their first time around an excitable nerdboy.

“Wow. Well it’s really nice to meet you. And um… I guess I should order. Um.” Quentin eyed the menu and seemed to pick almost at random, getting lost in looking at the hobbit until he’d completed his order.

Margo made her order simply but kept breaking to knock Quentin’s hands down when he tried to shake the waiter’s hand again. She hadn’t been wrong about the puppy needing training.

So cute though. Just look at him!

Eliot ordered quickly so the waiter and sommelier could make their escape and then turned his full attention on Margo and Quentin. “So, this is the most aggressively geeky place I’ve ever been, and I’ve been to Comic Con. You two must be dying of bliss. Please warn me before either of you orgasm; I don’t want to miss it.”

“Oh come on, Eliot. You’re barely holding that wine buzz. I see you.” Margo eyed Eliot briefly and then squeezed Quentin’s hand. “You’re not going to go running through the halls to follow them, are you?”

“No.” Quentin looked almost offended. “They’ll be back.”

Margo eyed him and then shook her head.

“Why were you at Comic Con, Eliot?” Quentin took another sip of the wine and then blinked a few times as if he was having trouble focusing. “I thought you didn’t like any of this stuff.”

Eliot gave Quentin a soft look and suppressed a smile. “I don’t _like_ this stuff, but nerds are just so cute.” He reached out to rest his hand atop Margo’s and let the corner of his lip curl up. “There’s something about them.”

“Finally, we’ve gotten to the bottom of your obsession with Coldwater.” Margo rolled her eyes and slipped her hand out from between theirs and sipped her wine. “You really went to Comic Con to shop for a nerd to bang? What did you ever do without me?”

Quentin shook his head. “I don’t believe you, Eliot. You’re lying. Why were you there?”

Eliot laughed in disbelief and stared at Quentin, trying to figure out if he was being real. Q looked surprisingly earnest, like it was just beyond belief Eliot was deeply attracted to sensitive, fantasy-reading mega dorks. Which, admittedly, it _was_ an odd kink of his, but—

“Don’t kink shame, Coldwater. What do you get off on? Princess Leia in a metal bikini? That’s valid. _I_ enjoy a petite, awkward boy with messy hair and way too much passion he has no idea what to do with. Preferably a book and/or film nerd, though. The gamer nerds get on my nerves after a while. Too competitive. I don’t want to compete; I want to blow a waify virgin’s mind, get him to imprint on me, and have him eternally compare every new lover to yours truly.” After a moment, Eliot furrowed his brow and conceded, “So I _do_ want to compete, but only with all his future sex partners.”

Except, of course, when it came to Quentin, he had the nagging suspicion he didn’t want there to be future sex partners, which was _way_ too serious, and Eliot was just refusing to acknowledge that weird little possessive urge.

Quentin just stared at Eliot as if he’d started speaking in elvish and for once Q _didn’t_ understand it. Then he turned to Margo. “So hobbits and elves are real? Do they all work in food service?”

“Of course not. They work in all professions. Humans see what they want to see. Come on, you thought Tilda Swinton _wasn’t_ an elf?” She took another sip of her wine and then leaned. “Bowie just sailed into the West. He’s not dead at all.”

“That makes so much sense.” Quentin stared at Margo in awe.

 _That_ was what made sense to him?

“I’m not even sure all that’s actually true. Isn’t this just like a theme restaurant with a lot of really good illusion magic?” Eliot rested his elbow on the table and put his chin on his hand as he looked between them. “Please don’t make me regret these reservations.”

Not that Eliot really would; they were awfully cute geeking out together, and Quentin was footing the check, so…

“Shh, El.” Margo cut a glance at Eliot, her lips curling up.

Quentin scooted closer to Margo, because of course he did, but then he whispered, “Is Eliot an elf? He’s very tall.”

Margo reached out for Eliot and stroked his hair. “He’s very pretty too, isn’t he? I bet that’s why he wants you to think elves aren’t real.”

Q looked between Margo and Eliot a few times, then sat back looking suspicious. “Then why’s he at Brakebills?”

“Deep undercover.” To her credit, she was keeping a mostly straight face. “They’re investigating the mating rituals of human magicians.”

“Is that why… on my birthday…?”

“Collecting data.” Margo nodded solemnly.

Eliot, not to his credit, considered for a few moments whether this was the optimal path into Quentin’s pants on a semi-permanent basis. Then he realized lying was bad—or, well, he acknowledged it probably was—and sighed at Margo. “Honestly, Bambi, you’re going to confuse him. Look at his sweet little face! He honestly thinks it makes more sense that a _Tolkien elf_ is _researching human magician mating rituals_ than that I might just think he’s cute.”

After rolling his eyes at Margo, Eliot looked to Quentin and frowned. “Quentin, we have got to work on your self-esteem, baby.”

“What?” Quentin frowned at Margo and then at Eliot as if he was the one who was having him on that whole time. “It’s really just an illusion charm?”

“His dick tastes like lavender.” Margo nodded, apparently still game, but then as Quentin started to scoot away, she gave it up. “Yeah, it’s just illusion, Q. But Eliot’s dick can be flavored.”

“So Bowie is really dead?” That seemed to disappoint Quentin most of all. Relatable.

“I hate to acknowledge the probability you are correct, so I refuse to.” Eliot lifted his wine glass. “To Bowie. May he sail into the West with all the other brilliant, gender non-conforming elven badasses.”

Quentin held up his wine glass and clinked it with Eliot’s.

Margo joined in and gave a little shrug. “That’s what I like to think happened.”

The waiter and a few other hobbits came in with the first course and paired wines, and they got so focused on the deliciousness of the meal that conversation dropped off beyond each of them insisting on sharing their food. This had the advantage of them trying almost everything on the menu.

The rest of dinner went surprisingly smoothly. As each course and its paired wines arrived, Quentin proved to be a more adventurous eater than Eliot would’ve guessed. Q smiled and ate with gusto, receptive both to being fed and to feeding Margo and Eliot.

Also, he stopped staring so hard at the waitstaff, which was a relief to everyone.

After dessert, they brought the bill to Quentin, whose eyes widened at the total, but he set a credit card in the folder, and the situation was handled.

Eliot looked to Margo, raising a brow as if to ask whether Quentin passed muster. Was she going to invite him on vacation? Through the hazy warmth of several wines, Eliot felt a kernel of anxiety that Quentin might disappear from his life for the next couple of months. He reached for her hand and brought its back to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently as he gazed at her imploringly.

She flicked her gaze at him, her brown eyes soft and warm in a way that he rarely saw. She gave him a quick nod and then tilted her head toward Quentin to indicate he should invite him.

When he hesitated, Margo leaned forward. “He thought you were pretty enough to be a Tolkien elf. Maybe he’s not the only one who needs to work on his self-esteem?”

Eliot cleared his throat and narrowed his gaze at her before turning his attention on Quentin. “Q, we were wondering… What are your summer break plans? Whatever they are, they’re not now. You’re coming on a trip with us.”

That was _like_ asking.

“I am?” Quentin blinked and looked between them. “This isn’t another Brakebills test, is it?”

“No, honey. It’s summer vacation. Ibiza. Until we get bored with it. Then… who knows?” Margo reached out for his hands and took them. “I promise I won’t lie to you again. About much.”

“Margo and I always vacation together whenever possible, and this time, we’re bringing you along.” Eliot smiled at Quentin and then said, by way of explanation, “You’re my puppy, but you’re really very well-behaved.”

“Neither of us really…do a home in the summer. Not since we started Brakebills and discovered neither of us really wanted to go back to our families. So we nomad it. Our summer wanderings.” Margo let go of Quentin’s hands and sat back and cuddled next to Eliot.

“I’m a puppy?” Quentin looked between them. “I get along with my dad, but um, I can visit him at some point, right? Think he’d be relieved not for the whole summer.”

“Definitely a puppy,” Eliot affirmed, snuggling up to Margo contentedly as he eyed Quentin. “We’re adopting you. More than we already have done, I mean. That was fostering. This is adopting. We’re keeping you.”

Eliot lifted his wine glass and drank, hoping it would stop him from talking.

“Yes. We’ll just drop by the vet before we go, get you your shots, a little snip.” Margo laughed at Quentin’s horrified expression. “Maybe not the snip.”

“Oh. Um. Okay then. I guess. That sounds fun.” Quentin rubbed his forehead, seeming nervous. “You’re not going to get weird with the puppy thing, are you? Because… Um, not to kink shame but it’s not really my thing. If that’s what you’re looking for… maybe ask Todd?”

Eliot burst into alarmed giggles, unable to check himself, and gazed at Quentin in wary delight. “How would you know Todd’s into puppy play?” A pause. “Also, _I’m_ not. I just want to take you everywhere and maybe groom you. You need grooming. I’ll brush your hair and tailor your clothes.”

He shot Margo a look. “I can’t speak for Bambi, though. She might actually want to put you on a leash.” Dropping his voice to a stage whisper, he rasped, “She’s sassy like that.”

“I mean, I don’t _know_ ; I just assume. He seems like…?” Quentin was mad blushing, and it was adorable as he sputtered. “I don’t really know what it entails, but I’m just saying I’m not eating off the floor.”

Margo’s brows went up and her lips pressed together in amusement. “Sounds like you’ve given your hard limits some thought. We like that, don’t we, Eliot?”

“Um, wait. Just… Hang on. What kind of trip is this?” Quentin suddenly seemed very nervous.

“We’re not going to chain you up like a sex slave if that’s what you’re worried about.” Margo raised a brow. “Unless you ask _real nice._ ”

Quentin held up his hands. “Um… um. Um? Um. What?”

“Bambi,” Eliot said warningly, giving her a hard stare. Then he looked to Quentin. “It’s a vacation. Just three friends who have had sexual contact in the past and may indulge in such again should the mood strike.” Eliot thought he sounded very suave and calm, but inside he was a bit of a mess, worried Margo had pushed Quentin too far.

Not that he blamed her. Quentin was _so much fun_ to wind up.

Offering Quentin a particularly potent and winning smile, Eliot assured him, “Consent is very important to us. We won’t make you have any orgasms you aren’t interested in having. However, orgasms _will_ be on the menu, just FYI. I mean, it _is_ an Eliot and Margo joint, and you are just delicious.”

“Me?” Quentin seemed honestly puzzled, which just made him that much sweeter and sexier. He looked around the area as if he thought there would be cameras coming out from somewhere, but there was nothing but fields. “Is it that you want me to pay for the vacation?”

“No, dummy.” Margo sighed and gave Eliot a quick look. “It hurts my heart that you think that. Besides, we always put it on my credit card, and it’s paid off. We just want you to come with us. We like you.”

Quentin looked between them for another minute and then finally seemed to accept that. He gave a shy little smile as he tucked his hair behind his ear. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that, I think.”

“Of course you would,” Eliot agreed. “We’re awesome, and you deserve a vacation after a rough first year at Brakebills. Let us pamper you. Wouldn’t you like a little pampering?” Eliot snaked his arm around Margo, giving her an excited little cuddle, but kept his gaze on Q. He raised a brow and murmured, “Self-care is _very_ important, Quentin.”

“Come here.” Margo reached out for Quentin, and he immediately moved to her side and settled in. She gave Eliot a small smirk. “See? You fit with us, don’t you? We give you hard time… okay, _I_ give you a hard time, but it’s out of love. And you make it pretty easy.”

She kissed his temple, and he appeared to relax some, though he still appeared wary.

“Okay. I’m just not really used to…”

“People being nice? It’s a cruel world out there. We take care of each other, don’t we, El?” Margo pulled Eliot in a little tighter as well, bringing them all closer.

Eliot extended his arm from Margo’s shoulder to clasp Quentin’s fondly and nodded. “We do take care of each other. It’s important to have each other’s backs. And fronts. And whatever. It’s a pretty comprehensive care system.”

Leaning in to kiss Margo’s hair, Eliot whispered into her ear, “How do you _do_ that?”

Then, at normal volume, he said, “Quentin, you’ve known us for almost a year now. Living in the same house, no less. We’re hardly strangers. It’s okay to take this relationship a little deeper, yeah? Share an adventure?”

“Yeah. I’d like an adventure.” That seemed to be a real win with Quentin’s nerd brain engaging, even if he was, perhaps, sexually unsure. He reached back out to Eliot, his hand hovering over Eliot’s back until he gently rested it as if he had to sneak in to touch.

“Boys are easy,” Margo whispered back as she reached up to stroke Quentin’s hair, bringing his head down to rest on her chest. To Quentin, she said, “I promise you this isn’t a trick. Eliot wouldn’t let me do that even if I wanted to, isn’t that right, El?”

Practically glowing inside from Quentin’s hand on his back, Eliot nodded and tried to sound normal and casual when he said, “That’s right. I’m officially the Quentin Coldwater Protection Agent. I will guard you from any potentially damaging mischief Margo might attempt. She _means well_ , but she’s just, you know, slightly evil? In a cute way.”

Eliot nuzzled Margo affectionately to remind her how much he loved her slightly evil cute self, as if she could forget, and then peered down at Quentin, whose cheek was cushioned on Margo’s breast, to which her red dress clung desperately as if it might make a break for it if Quentin moved his head too far.

“Q, you have to be brave to have adventures, right? So extend some faith to us, and let’s make this summer one to remember. We won’t be young forever, and you will likely never again be invited on a grand vacation like this by such fabulous hosts as ourselves. Carpe diem, cutie.”

“I’m brave. Sometimes.” Quentin looked up at Eliot, his chin nudging onto one of Margo’s breasts, which she seemed to enjoy. She let him know with a soft moan which turned his slightly worried gaze into something sultry as he looked to Eliot.

Margo shifted, her voice a little breathy as she lifted her chin. “We should probably not scandalize the waitstaff.”

“Who? The hobbits? They’re nasty bitches. They live for scandal.” Eliot smirked and tilted his head to the side, appraising the situation. Part of him said _Quit while you’re ahead, dumbass,_ but part of him—a much louder part of him—yelled _Kiss the boy_.

So he did.

He leaned over, way over, to kiss Quentin’s soft, surprised mouth. Quentin grabbed Eliot’s nape as if for dear life while his lips parted, making way for Eliot to deepen the kiss. The immediate compliance shocked Eliot for a moment, but he quickly recovered, sliding his hands up and through Quentin’s hair.

Margo pushed her chair back, giving them more room. Then she reached for Quentin, pulling him toward Eliot gently. “There you go, Q. Nothing to be worried about, right?”

Eliot smiled against Quentin’s mouth at Margo’s words and nipped his bottom lip as if to punctuate the statement. He murmured, “Nah, you’ve got this, Quentin,” and kissed him again, playfully teasing Quentin’s lips with his tongue and licking slowly deeper, fingers tightening in Quentin’s hair. He growled his approval and braced himself with his free hand on Margo’s shoulder, keeping the three of them connected, not wanting to leave his Bambi out of the kiss even if she wasn’t actually tonguing down.

She seemed pretty content watching and facilitating. Normally, she was more active when things like this went down, so he supposed confessing his feelings to her about Quentin had been a good idea after all. She stroked their backs and made soft, soothing sounds that actually seemed to spur Quentin on.

Quentin gripped Eliot’s shoulders, fingers moving as if grappling with the broadness of them, then they moved inward, cupping Eliot’s face as he leaned in more, practically on Margo’s lap now. She was right. He did seem to enjoy kissing. Even better, he seemed to enjoy kissing Eliot.

Eliot slid his hand up Margo’s shoulder to touch her hair, fingers scratching gently against her scalp as he did the same to Quentin. His two favorite people, the two he wanted to spend all his time with. Happiness welled in his chest, fragile and beautiful and absolutely irresistible.

This was why he craved Quentin like he did. There was something about him, his innocence, his eagerness to _feel_ , his openness. Quentin wasn’t a happy person—Eliot knew Quentin was a melancholy boy, one who struggled with sadness—but he fostered happiness in others, or at least in Eliot.

“Mm,” Eliot murmured, wanting Quentin to hear his approval, his pleasure, and then he kissed Quentin more deeply, getting carried away as he remembered Quentin’s cock in his mouth, the weight of it, the pressure in his throat, the _taste_ of him all salty and masculine and good. He kissed Quentin until he ran out of breath, until he was hard and aching and wanted to spread Quentin across the round, lace-clothed table and eat his ass for dessert.

Then, reluctantly, he pulled away, breathing hard, sweat beading his forehead, and tilted his head to the side as he gazed at Quentin. “So, lots of that on our trip,” he suggested breathlessly, not quite smirking.

Quentin looked wildly around as if surprised where he’d ended up, which was in Margo’s lap and kissing Eliot. He licked his lips as Margo wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him.

“Um, sorry.” Quentin winced as he reached down and put his arm around her.

“Don’t be sorry. Nothing to be sorry for. I could’ve moved, but I like my front row seat.” She gave Quentin a squeeze and then started pushing him off. “But we really should go back before it gets much steamier.”

“Yeah. Um, okay.” Quentin stood up a little too fast and just about dropped back down but for Margo bracing him.

“We don’t gotta run, Q. We didn’t rob the place. Yet.” She grinned as she stood with him, sliding her hand down over the front of his pants. “But I understand all the blood has probably pooled elsewhere.”

A slow, satisfied grin spread over Eliot’s face, and he belatedly noticed the waiter had returned with the receipt and Quentin’s card. To spare Quentin the embarrassment, Eliot stood and walked over, taking the items from the hobbit, and murmured, “Thank you for your discretion,” before motioning to Quentin and Margo to join him.

“Let’s go, chickadees. I’ll pour us all nightcaps, and we can dream about our impending adventure together. As a trio.”

Just that word made the happy warmth in Eliot’s chest expand like the deepest, most relaxing breath. He beamed at them, radiant with pleasure, and deliberately adjusted his erection in such a way Quentin could not doubt the effect he had on him.

Quentin averted his gaze, cheeks pink but beaming. He really didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Margo put her arm around him and tugged gently, taking more direct action, which got him moving finally as she guided him out through the door.

She kissed his cheek and mussed his hair, then paused, turning back to wait for Eliot to catch up with them. Eliot fell in with them easily enough and offered Quentin his receipt and credit card, enjoying the way their hands touched.

Then Eliot kissed Quentin’s temple because he couldn’t resist and whispered, “Thanks for dinner, handsome.”

Leaving Margo and Quentin behind a few paces, Eliot strode down the hobbit-hole-hallway toward the exit, practically walking on air. A successful date could have that effect, but he’d never done the dating thing so much, so it still felt fresh and strange and weirdly welcome.

A small cluster of partiers remained in the dining room of the cottage when Eliot exited the portal, and he ignored them studiously on his way to the bar. Usually he’d socialize, but he didn’t want to risk anything pricking a hole in the joyous balloon in his chest. Instead, he loosened his tie and then set out three highball glasses and got to work.

Todd looked up like a prairie dog. Way too eager. “Is one of those for me?”

Quentin came through the portal next with Margo on his arm. Eliot hadn’t noticed before, but Quentin looked thoroughly debauched. Hair a mess, lips red from kissing.

Margo looked perfect as she always did, even after a long night. When they came through together, it appeared that people made their assumptions, some looking to Eliot and back at Quentin, doing the correct math. Others just tittered at Quentin and Margo, seeming to give no further thought to what part Eliot might’ve played.

Todd tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “What happened to Quentin?”

“We took him on a date,” Eliot replied evenly as he filled the highballs with lime and sugar. “Or, well, he took _us_ on a date. He paid.”

Eliot muddled the lime aggressively, crushing it into the sugar to release the oils from the peel, and vented his general irritation with Todd into the mixing. “Now I’m making him a drink and sending him to bed. He needs a good night’s sleep. Margo and I are taking him on vacation tomorrow, which will be both relaxing and _extremely_ physically taxing.”

“Wait, taking you two on a date was an option?” Todd sat up taller as Margo and Quentin approached.

“It was for Quentin,” Margo said as she reached for Todd.

He reached back, seeming excited at the contact until she pulled him out of the chair to claim it for herself. Then she pulled Quentin into her lap.

Quentin gently set his arm around Margo, still a little hesitant. “What should I pack?”

“Well if you have any sexy underwear, obviously that,” Eliot teased as he poured artisanal Cachaça into the glasses. “Shorts, tank tops, sandals, speedos. Beachy vibes. Plus some clubbing outfits. Ibiza’s club scene is unreal, and we _will_ be dragging you out to clubs to dance with us.”

Filling a shaker with crushed ice, Eliot poured in one drink at a time, shook it vigorously, and then strained the contents into each glass in turn. “We’ll spend a lot of time poolside, seaside, and at the bar, so whatever you feel comfortable partying in, really, Q. With those dimples, you really look good in everything, even your extremely mundane daily attire.”

“Thanks?” Quentin looked down at Margo, who shrugged at him. “I’m not really sure what a clubbing outfit would be. Just, nice pants?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Todd huffed. “Are you taking him to Encanto Oculto?”

“Do you object?” Margo asked, seeming highly amused by his distress.

“I bet he doesn’t even know what it is!” Todd pointed at Quentin as if he were accused of something.

Quentin looked around with his eyes wide. “I don’t, but it sounds fun. Hey, Todd?”

“What?” Todd dropped his hand but continued to pout.

“Can you get on all fours and bark like a dog?” Quentin’s sweet face after he said it made even Eliot question if he really heard what he thought he did.

“What? Why would I do that?” Todd looked down at the floor as if considering whether he should.

“Nothing. Just something we were talking about at dinner.”

Margo cackled and squeezed Quentin.

“Mean!” Eliot exclaimed, equal parts titillated and scandalized. He finished mixing the Caipirinhas and offered one to Quentin and one to Margo before sipping his own. It was strong, which was how he liked it, just watered down enough from the crushed ice it had been shaken with.

He gave Todd a look and, seeing him confused and feeling excluded, something twinged in Eliot’s chest. He offered Todd his own drink, trying to seem offhand and casual about it. “Good job surviving the year, Todd. Get some rest. Maybe we’ll send you a postcard.”

Then he turned his attention on Margo and Quentin and smiled mischievously. “I’m going to have a nice, long self-pleasure session in the shower, and then I’ll be joining you in your room for the night, Bambi. I require snuggles. We can do a full date post-mortem while you pet my hair.”

Quentin looked sheepish as he sipped his drink, as if he was worried he’d pushed too far.

“Being mean is very on brand, Q. You did good. He started it with you. If he didn’t want none, he shouldn’t’ve started some.” Margo looked up at Quentin and then gave him a quick kiss before lightly dumping him from her lap. “Think we all need to rub one out after that kiss, huh? Let’s go take care of business then.”

“Indeed.” Eliot came around the bar and grabbed Quentin by the bowtie to draw him in for a goodnight kiss. He brushed their lips together and smiled against his mouth, soft and sweet and lingering, and then pulled back and raised his brows. “Don’t forget to dream of me.”

Then he held out his arm to Margo and escorted her up the stairs with a flourish, glorying in every step, in every gaze that followed them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow us on Tumblr! We're always looking for new Queliot friends >_>
> 
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	2. In Which Margo Is Fabulous (and a Little Manipulative)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far in this series, we've had Q's POV, El's POV, and this chapter brings you Margo's POV. What does she think of El's gigantic nerd crush? Does she have ulterior motives? What is going on in that gorgeous head of hers? 
> 
> Well, here are the answers, and some might surprise you.
> 
> AKA: The first day at Encanto Oculto.

There were many perks to being a magician, but the almost painless travel through portals was probably Margo’s favorite. No TSA. No parking. No waiting in lines. No fucking baggage check.

It wasn’t free. What in life ever is?

But it wasn’t as expensive or time-consuming as air travel, and if your destination was also magical, you only had to lug your bags so far. Or you could get a Quentin to carry your bags for you.

Not that her bags were particularly heavy or difficult to carry. She didn’t plan to wear much and prided herself on her ability to pack efficiently, but with his hands full, Quentin couldn’t fidget as much.

In Margo’s estimation, Quentin was just about equal parts annoying and charming. That might have seemed judgey of her or as if she didn’t like him, but to her, most people were _completely_ annoying.

Quentin was clever and sweet. He read books, which was a real plus. He was often naïve, which made him fun to toy with, but also very game in that he seemed to feel like most anything was worth trying once. There were worse people that Eliot could fall for.

Quentin’s cons were his, well, his feelings. He had so many, and Margo didn’t know what to do with any of them. She and Eliot had always had a very balanced relationship in which she did nurse a few tender feelings toward him, but no one ever had to fucking _talk_ about it.

Nor would they.

Quentin just _oozed_ feelings, and she often found herself touching him for non-sexual purposes which left her mildly annoyed. More with herself than Quentin, but annoyed the same. But annoyance was a familiar feeling and didn’t bother her as much as her occasional blips into empathy.

Worse than all of that, though, were the heart eyes Eliot kept making at Quentin. She just knew feelings were going to be discussed eventually and that neither of these boneheads were capable of clear communication, so she was going to get fucking dragged into it.

 _Boys_.

She sighed but was quickly distracted as they stepped through the Brakebills portal—which did not cost them anything—and out of the Ibiza portal—which was a surcharge on their accommodations, since that was where they exited.

Margo had already dressed for the beach and simply set her card on the counter at the check-in desk, instructed Quentin to set down her bags, and received their room number and individualized spell to get into their room.

Their bags were whisked away for them, and Margo headed through the lobby to one of the large communal areas that faced the beach, and more importantly, to the bar.

Quentin wore jeans and a t-shirt, over which he’d added a light blue linen shirt that was at least kind of beachy. He didn’t really have any beach attire with him, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t seem like a beach kind of guy, and also, he’d packed for school, not summer.

He’d assured them that he could go home to get things to wear but that he hadn’t been to the beach since he was a teenager and, well, Margo didn’t want to know what kind of dorky things he thought were cool back then, so they winged it.

Honestly, he wouldn’t be the only socially maladjusted magician who refused to take off his shirt in public, but he probably was the cutest.

So yeah, he was kinda cute, she supposed.

Worth the fuss? Well, that was Eliot’s thing. And what Eliot wanted, Eliot got, as far as Margo was concerned. At the bar, she pulled down her sunglasses, ordered a mojito, and waved toward Eliot and Quentin as she wrote down the room number to charge it to.

Eliot sauntered over in full beach party mode. What he lacked in muscle definition, he made up for in package size, and his heavily architectured white shorts displayed that prominently while his long, drapey, open-fronted white linen-on-more transparent linen striped shirt, tousled curls, and oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses made him look like the poster boy for a lazy summer.

The way Quentin looked at Eliot as they walked up to the bar suggested that he was also aware that Eliot was out of his league and wasn’t entirely certain how he had ended up here. Eliot, who was probably heart-eyed again behind the shades, gazed down at Quentin, one arm around Quentin’s shoulders, as he steered him onto the stool closest to Margo.

“Ginger Hibiscus Margarita,” Eliot ordered, which tended to be his go-to at this party, since there was a serious dearth of locations where you could get a good margarita, and El tended to go a little crazy when he found one. Then he leaned over and kissed Margo sweetly, lips brushing against hers before he leaned closer still and whispered in her ear, “This is going to be _magical,_ Bambi.”

Then he straightened and shoved his sunglasses on top of his head so he could eyefuck the bartender, so at least he hadn’t gone entirely besotted. Yet. Of course, his arm stayed around Quentin the entire time, so maybe this was just the new normal.

Quentin ordered sangria, which wasn’t entirely imaginative, but he did seem to love wine so it made sense in a Quentin sort of way. Also meant that his drink was finished first. He leaned in and took a sip before looking around again as if he couldn’t quite believe he was here.

The bartender eyed up Eliot and followed his arm to smirk at Quentin as if he found him cute. He tilted his head at Eliot as if in invitation to ask him when his shift ended.

Oblivious to any of that, Quentin turned toward Margo and smiled like the sunny little puppy he was. “This is good.”

“Always the best for us.” Despite herself, she leaned in and kissed his forehead, leaving a soft red mark from her lipstick.

Quentin blushed and seemed flustered as he turned back around to Eliot, catching the bartender looking at him. Eliot seemed to feed off the exchange—he was a compulsive flirt, just fucking soaked up the ego boosts—but then leaned in to kiss Quentin’s forehead just where Margo’s lips had been, like he was sealing their joint claim on Quentin.

It was at that moment Margo really grasped how different this week was going to be. Usually she and Eliot were on the hunt for the sexiest and most flexible conquests to bring back to their suite together, both of their prey drives fully engaged, and they’d have sex all day—and night—until they had to resort to magic to prevent chafing. The rest of the party’s activities were just their hunting grounds.

But this… Well. Eliot didn’t seem interested in pursuing any prey but the cute-ish little nerd they’d already caught.

When the bartender finally produced the mojito and margarita, Eliot tipped him lavishly as if in apology for the lack of follow-through. Then he beamed at Margo, looking so honestly joyful she couldn’t even begrudge the situation. Most of the time Eliot looked _amused_ , sometimes _content_ , and occasionally even a mixture of the two, but this…

Well, it was like Quentin’s earnest, puppyish glee in going on an adventure had rubbed off on him.

Gross.

Margo sipped her mojito and tried to nurse some resentment, but it wasn’t really there. Seeing Eliot so pleased made her, what. That feeling like things are going well? Happy?

Jesus Herbert Walker Christ. This was all going to get mushy, wasn’t it?

Before anything could get sappy, Margo grabbed Quentin by the arm and eyed Eliot, dragging them all to the dance area where at least it would be difficult to talk.

“Oh, I don’t… um… I don’t really um dance?” Quentin said as Margo pulled him.

“That’s all right. You don’t really have to.” Once they were in the thick of it, Margo faced him and grabbed his hip, getting them to sway with hers. “There, see? We can just dance around you. Just move to the music.”

“Yeah. Um, but my drink?”

Margo held hers up and sipped, showing him how to hold his drink securely while dancing. He mimicked her dancing fairly well, which was kind of cute as he now danced like a sexy girl, but it worked for him as Eliot crowded him from behind to take over the dance lessons.

Quentin seemed to startle and bump into Margo as Eliot shimmied behind him, like he wasn’t expecting Eliot to rub all up on him, which… Surely Quentin was smarter than that. His dick had been in Eliot’s mouth.

And Eliot held his margarita high in one hand while the other slinked around Quentin to latch onto Margo’s shoulder, which was kind of sweet, really, El’s way of keeping them connected. It was reassuring that he kept up the old habit even when it was Quentin between them, like Margo didn’t matter less than usual just because Quentin mattered _more_ than the usual. He grinned at her over Quentin’s shoulder and swayed like he was really appreciating Quentin’s imitation of Margo’s dance moves.

The music thrummed through the floor beneath their feet and rumbled in the walls, magically amplified—they had a sonomancer on staff—and like everything at Encanto Oculto, it inspired lust. The whole place was built for it, primed for it, drenched in seduction as much as sunshine. Eliot knew this song—they’d fucked this DJ together a while back, even though Margo barely considered “DJ” a legitimate career—and he was crooning it to them as they all ground together within the breadth of Eliot’s armspan.

It was increasingly obvious Quentin had no idea what to do with himself, moving between Margo and Eliot like that. He swigged the whole of his sangria, and someone took his empty glass and disappeared into the crowd. Margo did the same, surrendered her empty, and then grabbed Quentin by his beltloops to grind against him, forcing his ass back against Eliot.

She enjoyed the look of lusty glee in Eliot’s eyes almost as much as grinding against Quentin’s dick, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to reveal that to anyone in the vicinity. A dick was a dick, and she wasn’t going to fight Eliot over one.

However, this whole thing might require some adjustments.

Quentin wrapped one arm around Margo’s waist and moved with her; his other arm appeared to be around Eliot behind him. She couldn’t help smirking at that. He was awkward, but he was a pretty fast learner. 

Eliot’s look of rapturous excitement fed something in Margo that little else could, giving her a thrill of having gotten this right. He seemed so fucking delighted Quentin was draped over him and hanging off him and not just Margo, but he wasn’t looking at Q—he was gazing right into Margo’s eyes and grinning, sharing his pleasure with her like he understood her part in orchestrating it.

She took some pride in it, but honestly, if Eliot spun Quentin around and told him to suck his dick, he’d probably do it. Maybe even in the middle of the dance floor, though he did seem to have a strange modest streak.

Margo reached out, cupping Eliot’s face, and then pulled him in for a brief kiss. He smiled against her lips like he always did, like that affection sustained him, and then she stepped back and whipped Quentin around herself. Once he was facing Eliot, she grabbed his ass, squeezing it as she pushed Quentin forward, letting him grind on Eliot for a bit.

She rested her chin on Quentin’s shoulder, sliding one arm around him to put her hand on his abdomen. Keeping him in place, she rolled her body, showing Quentin how to do it as she slid her leg between his. This gave her better leverage to move him how she wanted to, taking great pleasure in how both men moaned.

Eliot sounded like he might cum in his pants, but he’d never be so gauche. Well, except for that time with the sex pollen, but that hadn’t been his fault. On the whole, El was really good about mature ejaculation. One of many reasons he was her favorite person.

The way he _sounded,_ though, was definitely having an effect on Quentin, or well, maybe it was the way his stiff cock jutted into Quentin’s belly. It brushed Margo’s hand now and then as Eliot joined Margo in the body roll Olympics, and if it was affecting _her,_ it was affecting the virgin.

People were everywhere now, like they’d brought the party with them, which tracked. That was how El and Margo did things. She could feel the gazes on them, jealous and hungry, the way she liked them.

Then Eliot polished off his margarita, handed off the empty glass, and dropped his newly freed hand to Quentin’s hip, which made Quentin sway like his knees had gone suddenly weak. Eliot just grinned and leaned in to kiss Quentin, open-mouthed and filthy, like the audience was only encouraging him. El could be such an exhibitionist.

Quentin grabbed Eliot’s shoulders, bracing himself and tiptoeing to meet Eliot halfway. He seemed far less self-conscious about this now than he had in their cottage, but then, the dancefloor was quickly becoming an orgy. A little manly kissing didn’t raise a brow.

So Margo grabbed Quentin’s outer shirt and started pulling it off. He moved agreeably with her, letting her pull it down his arms. She tied it around his waist, then started pulling on his t-shirt.

He startled as she revealed his abdomen, so Margo kissed the back of his neck and slid her hands over his chest under the fabric instead. Dragging her nails gently over his skin, she murmured, “Just your shirt, Q. It’s so hot in here. You’ll be more comfortable, yeah?”

Trembling, he broke his kiss with Eliot and paused, seeming in deep thought.

Margo whispered, “It’ll be so nice to feel skin on skin, won’t it?”

Quentin turned his head to look at her, hesitating, and then he pulled his shirt off himself.

She grinned. “Good boy. Now just relax. We’ve got you.”

Eliot let out a triumphant whoop and crowded Quentin into Margo before leaning over Quentin’s shoulder and kissing Margo with apparent gratitude. He teased her lips with his tongue, tasting like ginger hibiscus margarita, and licked her mouth out hot and dirty. Quentin squirmed a little between them, probably overwhelmed, and then Eliot was kissing him again too, those big hands of his all over both of them.

They were less dancing now than writhing, the dancefloor packed with the bodies of other magicians doing exactly the same thing, only less attractively.

That song flowed into another, faster rhythm, something insistent and sexy and irresistible, and Eliot twirled Quentin to put himself between them, picking up the pace. He left one arm looped over Quentin’s shoulders and then hooked the other around Margo, swaying dramatically with the rhythm. A moment later, he swirled Margo into the middle, and Quentin and Eliot were both rubbing against her and kissing above her shoulder, their bare chests crushing into her as hands wandered over her thighs—probably Eliot’s, because Quentin didn’t seem that bold.

If she were being honest, she hoped they were Eliot’s hands, because if Quentin initiated things with her, she wasn’t sure what she should do about it. That Eliot was putting her in the middle said a lot about his mental state, which was that he thought she would have more success seducing Quentin than he would.

She didn’t think that was necessarily true. She hadn’t even really _kissed_ Quentin at this point. All she was doing was giving him permission to do what it was obvious he wanted to do but felt like he shouldn’t.

Then again, maybe Eliot was a little nervous about how intense things were getting between them. Knowing would help her navigate, but she couldn’t quite catch Eliot’s eye, and she was growing more than a little aroused between them, thinking about how that could end up in bed.

Which would be fun, and she was definitely up for it, but she wasn’t entirely sure where that would leave everyone the next day when they recovered their heads.

She kissed Quentin softly and then looked back to Eliot. “I need another drink. How about you?”

Eliot—it was definitely Eliot, thank fuck—dragged his neatly manicured nails up the inside of her thigh and sighed before kissing her forehead. “I _am_ parched, and hydration _is_ important.”

He took Margo’s hand, and then he reached for Quentin and took him by the hand too, linking them together in the chaos engulfing the dance floor. “Lead the way, Bambi.”

She turned and checked in with Quentin, who appeared a little surprised they were moving off the dance floor, but he followed along. She reached across and also took Quentin’s hand, giving him a little squeeze and a reassuring smile. “Fun, right?”

Quentin nodded and smiled back a little shyly as if he suddenly realized they’d all been grinding against each other. “Yeah.”

Margo laughed and headed them to the bar again where she just gestured to the bartender to reup them on what they’d been drinking.

After she let go of Quentin’s hand, he started to cover himself, and Margo shook her head. “We’re at the beach, sweetie. You’re still the most clothed person on the island.”

Quentin looked out to the beach with a little bit of longing. “Sure, if we were swimming.”

Margo eyed Eliot. “We can do that. Hit the waves?”

“Anything our puppy wants,” Eliot agreed, leaning in to kiss Quentin’s temple. He slung his arm around Quentin’s waist as if it would make him feel less vulnerable and, once they had their drinks, started toward the exit.

People made a path for them, as they always did when Eliot was strutting. It was like the force of his personality had a parabolic effect, and Margo appreciated that especially in situations like this, with Q looking around like a worried, fractious…well, puppy. It was a startlingly accurate epithet.

Then they were on the veranda, and Quentin seemed to relax at being in the fresh air even with the music still pounding through the floorboards. It had been late morning at Brakebills when they arrived, but here it was six hours later, and sunset blazed into twilight as they made their way down to the beach, snuggling and sipping their drinks as they went.

People were setting up cliquey bonfires on different parts of the beach. Everyone was in various states of undress that seemed to make Quentin relax about his tits being out. Might also be the gathering gloom, but it hardly mattered. The important part was Quentin relaxing again. He was such a bundle of nerves.

High strung nerds. _We love those._

Speak for yourself, Eliot.

Then again, she thought fondly of Alice. All right, maybe they both did have kind of a type, though Alice was a much more worthy subject. Not only was she hot as shit, she was fucking powerful. And not in just a _get into a VIP lounge for free_ sort of way. She could legit light Brakebills up.

Plus, their ship name would be _Malice,_ and honestly, was there any better ship name for two underestimated angry women?

She’d tabled her interest for now but made sure that Alice had gotten an invitation to Encanto Oculto. Margo couldn’t exactly _invite_ her knowing that they were bringing Quentin and she could well be competition for Quentin’s attention.

Her intention was ninety percent bedding Alice and ten percent seeing where it went from there, which were much worse odds than she’d get from Quentin. Though Quentin was Quentin, and Margo was fabulous. But still, head to head, she had her doubts.

Besides, Eliot wanted Quentin, and Margo would see to it that Eliot got what he wanted. Whatever else he was to her or in her life, Eliot was her first love. Her nose wrinkled at even thinking that word, but there really wasn’t anything else to call it. She loved him, and that was all there was to it.

In many ways, he’d be the ideal husband. He wasn’t controlling or intimidated by her fierce intellect or appetite for sex. She could marry him and get her parents off her back, and not much in her life would change.

But marriage, even to her, just wasn’t Eliot. She loved him too much to even joke about the possibility. She loved him so much that all she wanted was for him to be happy, a status she usually reserved for just herself.

Romance wasn’t something she felt she could give him either, and though he loved playing the party boy dilettante, it wasn’t really him. Or at least, it wasn’t all there was to him. He was growing past their infatuation with each other, which made her a little sad, but she knew it didn’t really matter in the end. They would be together in one way or another for the rest of their lives.

At least, that’s what she told herself as she watched Eliot fussing over Quentin, fixing his hair into a tighter bun so the ocean breeze didn’t bother him as much.

Quentin smiled up at Eliot with so much affection that it made Margo’s stomach twist. Part of that was just Quentin. His emotions were always all over his face. She didn’t have to be Penny to hear how loud Quentin’s thoughts were. No one did.

Eliot was generally better at concealing himself, but not when he looked down at Quentin. Heart eyes. Gag.

Margo rolled her eyes as she turned to face the ocean again, but she smiled despite herself. “You know, I’m not sure what will actually happen to this swimsuit if I get it wet.”

“You have a swimsuit you can’t get wet?” Quentin asked from behind. “What’s the point of that?”

Margo turned around and displayed herself in all her glory.

He gave her a once over and then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

She poked his nose and grinned up at Eliot. “I was thinking I might hit one of those bonfires, see if anyone’s got anything magical to smoke.”

Eliot grinned and took a step toward her before apparently remembering Quentin wanted to go swimming. For a moment, Eliot looked torn. Then he stepped into Margo’s space, took her face in those big hands, and kissed her so deeply it stole her breath. Just for a minute. Nothing dramatic.

As he lifted his head, he smiled at her and asked, voice pitched just for her ears, “You want me to come with you? I’m sure we could persuade Q to put a pin in the plans to swim.”

“No, go play with your puppy. I don’t think he’s ready for nudity.” Also, she thought Eliot could use some time alone with Quentin. Cement in his mind that Quentin didn’t come in the hopes of fucking Margo. “Steal a couple of kisses, let him get all of his energy out.”

Margo peered between the different bonfires. “At least one of these dickwads is bound to be grilling something. We’ll grab a nibble, see what’s next, but I bet he’ll be ready for a nap. We’ll hit a rave when he wakes up. Sound like a plan?”

“Mm as always, you are a genius.” Eliot grinned at her and claimed one more kiss, a little less tongue-intensive this time, and smacked her ass on his way past. “Have fun, gorgeous. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Then he looped his arm around Quentin’s waist and started dragging him down to the waterline, laughing at something as they walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please to comment with your thoughts! We love to know what you guys are thinking. Comments are, I dare say, one of the best parts of writing fanfic.


	3. In Which Q Gets Dirty, Clean, Dirty, and Clean Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin's still trying to figure himself out, and Eliot's trying not to push. Margo continues to sass everyone. Quentin is overwhelmed but also excited. Eliot gets (some of) what he wants.
> 
> Also, there is a jacuzzi and a giant shower, and people get wet and soapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is Quentin's POV, and because he doesn't really remember much of that first night, we allude to it later. However, I know some of you want more details based on comments, so maybe there'll be an outtake someday. As always, let us know what you think and what you want more of!
> 
> <_<   
> >_>
> 
> El's POV next chapter!

Quentin awoke to the sound of birdcalls and the roar of the ocean. He rubbed his face, surprised by how much sand was in his eyes until he realized there was, in fact, actual sand in his eyes. He was asleep on a sand-crusted mat and tucked under a rough blanket.

Apparently, he’d fallen asleep by the bonfire. The embers had dwindled in the streaming sunlight. There must’ve been a muffling charm active because people were shuffling around in silence not far away. Some dancing, some also waking up.

It was as if the party hadn’t really stopped; Quentin had just gone to sleep.

And now he was awake, still trying to piece together the night, neither Margo nor Eliot in sight.

He’d gone swimming with Eliot after nearly coming in his pants on the dancefloor. He’d gone in wearing his jeans, but it was impractical so now he was— Quentin reached down—in his underwear.

Those were still on, anyway.

As he shifted, he realized his jeans and shirts were under his cheek as a pillow, so at least there was that. Though many of the people around him were full-on naked.

Swimming had been so much fun. It was as if the water had brought out Eliot’s inner child, and they’d goofed around until it got too dark. Then they’d joined Margo, who had made a friend with good weed and good food, and about then his memories grew extremely vague beyond thinking he’d just close his eyes for a couple of minutes.

Now here he was. Alone. On a beach in Ibiza.

Well, not alone. There were people everywhere, and someone’s arm was across his waist.

Wait.

Quentin pulled back the blanket and saw Margo’s arm flopped around him and two pairs of legs tangled with his. He sat up and looked back, and there they were, Margo and Eliot spooning him from behind. He grinned.

Margo squinted up at him and yawned. “Hey, sleepyhead. We need to work on your stamina, huh?”

“You’re here with me.” Quentin turned around to face them.

“What, we’re going to leave you passed out on the beach alone? With these animals?” Margo reached up and brushed her well-manicured thumb over Quentin’s lips. “We’ve got your back, Q.”

That really touched Quentin, and he averted his gaze to the horizon as tears welled up. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Eliot said, voice really deep and rough from sleep. “Q, you’re our _guest_. Tell me you didn’t think we’d ever be less than stellar hosts.”

He’d propped his chin on Margo’s shoulder, arm wrapped around her snugly, and he gazed at Quentin looking as mussed as Quentin had ever seen him. His curls were a mess, and—Quentin belatedly realized—he was completely naked and using his clothes as a pillow. His sandy legs extended off the mat they’d all curled up on, and Quentin wondered if his feet had been cold. No way that little blanket had reached that far, given how much of it Quentin had been curled up in.

Then Eliot extended his fingers, grabby-handed, and gave Quentin a serious look. “We’re _friends_ , Quentin.”

Quentin, despite his instant regret that he was super playing into the puppy thing, lowered his head so that Eliot could touch his head. In his defense, it seemed like that was what Eliot wanted, even if it elicited a brief snicker from Margo. Also the petting felt really nice.

“I really was just going to rest for a few minutes. I didn’t mean to mess up your plans.” Quentin lifted his head again and then stretched, trying not to notice how naked Eliot was. “You weren’t cold?”

Margo shifted forward. She was still dressed, though her breasts had apparently staged a breakout overnight. She looked down when Quentin did and then casually shifted everything back into place. “Who, Eliot? I don’t think he gets cold. Even if he does, he knows how to get himself warm if he needs. He’s a big boy, Q. Perfectly capable of being a blanket hog when he wants to be.”

Eliot nodded, rolled onto his back, and groaned as he stretched and scratched his hairy belly. He looked perfectly contented, really, even if he was, objectively, a mess at the moment. “My love keeps me warm,” he murmured, giving Margo a casual grope.

Then he sat and looked to Quentin. “Just so you know, we _do_ have a suite with a real bed in it. We could try using that tonight, if you want to get really wild.” He gathered his clothes and stood, but he appeared to have no intention of dressing again. Holding his hand out to Margo, he said, “Shall we go shower and dress for our first full day of Encanto Oculto?”

“So what exactly is that? There’s supposed to be an, um, Regalo? A present or something?” Quentin got up to his knees and stretched again. He grabbed his clothes and figured if Eliot was going to wander around naked, no one would notice Quentin in his underwear. He held his clothes tight against his chest, though.

Margo stood with Eliot, gave a little shimmy, and all the sand dropped off her as if she was made of Teflon. Probably a charm, but Quentin felt too cotton headed to cast anything at the moment.

“Yeah, it’s a gift to enter. We’re going to use your virginity.”

Quentin let out another loud sigh. “I am _not_ a virgin.”

“Guess we’re going to find out.” Margo turned back to grin at him, then waited and put her arm over his shoulder. “I’m kidding. We’ve got an Amulet of Wonder which plays your favorite Stevie Wonder song at a thought.”

“It’s honestly delightful,” Eliot added, slowing his long-legged pace so they all walked together in a snuggly, half-dressed cluster. “Instant mood boost for whoever wears it. Besides, we’d never offer your virginity as a Regalo, Q. We’d want that for ourselves.”

Eliot gave Quentin a sleepy-lidded smile that was way too pleased with itself, and then rubbed his temples with a sudden wince. “Ugh, this sunshine. I need like…seventeen mimosas and a selection of fresh local pastry.” He pouted. “I lost my sunglasses. Oh well.”

It seemed like quite a few of the people they passed recognized Eliot and Margo, nodding at them or calling out greetings, which Eliot and Margo returned with lazy lifts of their chins, like they were too regal and cool to get excited at having friends. If they _were_ friends. On second thought, they were probably just people Eliot and Margo had fucked.

As they neared their villa—or what Quentin assumed was their villa; he didn’t entirely remember—Eliot’s pace sped as he seemed to grow excited, and he turned to walk backward, grinning at both of them. “Wait until you see our bathroom, Q. Margo always gets us the best reservations in Ibiza. We’re talking a four-person rainforest shower, giant Jacuzzi tub with room for six… And of course there’s a spa on the main floor, complete with magical beauty treatments to prepare you for your next party.”

Before Quentin could say anything, Eliot backed his ass right into a weird guy standing in the villa’s garden, and Eliot almost tripped. The guy caught him as Eliot dropped the clothes he was carrying, and El let out a kind of cute little squeak as he was righted. Then, with a charming babble of thank yous, Eliot telekinetically returned his clothes to his arms. He seemed embarrassed for all of a second, like he was physically incapable of feeling the humiliation that was Quentin’s accustomed state, and then he smiled like he wasn’t a naked klutz.

“Roberto! Um. You remember Margo.” Eliot gestured between the guy, who was dressed head to toe in some kind of kinky bondage gear, and Margo before turning his attention on Quentin. “And this is our friend Quentin. I’ve got dibs.”

The curious look Roberto turned on Quentin made him feel very, very naked. Then Roberto slipped his arm around Eliot’s waist and raised his brows at Margo. “Ah, Queen Margo. Always a pleasure to see you. And Quentin, nice to meet you. Any friend of Eliot’s is a friend of mine.” He looked up at Eliot and added, “I just came from breakfast. They’re serving ensaïmada. I know you like that. If you lived here year-round, you wouldn’t fit in your fancy suits.”

To Quentin’s surprise, Eliot extricated himself from his friend and dropped his arm around Quentin’s shoulder like he was trying to convince Roberto they were boyfriends or something.

“Well, we’ll have to get a move on then. I want Quentin to experience the glories of Balearic pastry on his first morning here.” Eliot squeezed Quentin and started them up the steps to the veranda, clinging to Quentin in a wholly unfamiliar way, like Quentin was somehow going to protect him from leering bondage guys.

Quentin looked over his shoulder at the guy, wondering if that was what Eliot was into. Apparently, he wasn’t now in this moment, or at least not with this guy. Quentin did his best to look like the jealous boyfriend, shooting him a glare.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done such a thing, but the first time with a man. He liked that he was the sort of guy women would come to in a bar for protection against aggressive, toxic men. Even if, ultimately, maybe he was seen as unintimidating to women and not a super sexy alpha male.

But whatever. He wasn’t that kind of guy, so there seemed little point in trying to attract someone into that.

Quentin clung back and stood a little taller, not that it mattered. He was nowhere near as tall as Eliot, but Quentin knew that when he wanted to, he could project some irritation. The flip side of the coin to all his emotions leaking out: When he focused, he had this.

And so guys who leered at Eliot caught Quentin’s glare and quickly looked away.

Margo cut eyes at Quentin and grinned at him in a way that appeared approving.

For his part, Eliot appeared delighted. He kissed Quentin’s temple and whispered, “My hero,” and played up the affection.

It was probably a relief to Eliot not to have to interact with all his former flings, Quentin figured. Guys like Eliot didn’t seem to get especially emotionally invested in the people they’d fucked a year or two ago.

Once they were inside, Eliot and Quentin followed Margo to what appeared to be a particularly luxurious continental breakfast. Eliot finally released Quentin, though he stayed close, and beelined for a plate of a spiraling pastry that had to be what Roberto had mentioned. It was flaky and covered in powdered sugar, and it smelled like vanilla.

Eliot claimed a generous portion of what was left, juggled with the clothes he was holding, and finally said, “Someone please acquire an alcoholic breakfast beverage on my behalf. I want to sip it in the Jacuzzi while I blast the sand from all my crevices.”

“Thank that’s the boyfriend’s job.” Margo smirked at Quentin as she helped herself to a plate of fruit.

“Yeah, yeah.” Quentin blushed as he shook out his pants and shirts and threw them all over his shoulder so he had both hands free.

“Get the drink. I’ll fix you a plate. How’s that?” Margo grabbed something creamy like yogurt to put with her fruit as Quentin nodded.

“That mean you’re my girlfriend?”

“You wish.” Margo rolled her eyes as she pointed toward the bar. “I assume you want eggs, the usual?”

“Yeah, though I’d like to try that pastry?” Quentin started over.

“I’m sure El will share. Maybe. Mm. Actually, I’ll grab you some. He likes you, but…”

Quentin chuckled and headed to the bar. The bartender looked a little annoyed as she pushed her hair back from her face.

When she took him in, she laughed and shook her head. “That’s what you’re wearing here?”

“What? Boxer briefs are cool.” Quentin blushed and tried to cover his undies with the leg of his pants.

“Oh yeah, real sexy for Ibiza. What do you want?”

“Something alcoholic for myself and two people who don’t walk around in their underwear?”

“Ah, so you came here with your much, much cooler friends?” She laughed again and toyed with her hair. It was like she was flirting with him, and he wasn’t really sure what to do with that.

“Um. I mean, I could say no, that I was the cool one, but you’d just feel really sorry for me then, right?”

She snickered. “I really would. Okay, you know what’s popular right now is the porn star martini. So how about I make you three of those? Get you a little tray because it’s a drink and a shot of prosecco.”

Quentin rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, but if they call me a dork, I’m blaming you.”

She leaned forward, flashing Quentin a view of her cleavage. “Anyone calls you a dork, send them to me.”

“What, for you to agree with them?”

She laughed and winked, then turned to put together vanilla vodka with passionfruit juice. Then she poured the prosecco shots and slid the tray to him.

He gave her his room number, and she waggled her brows. “Is that for me for later?”

“What?” Quentin blinked as he took the tray.

“Now I know where you are.”

“Um…” Quentin wasn’t sure what to say, but then Margo turned up behind him.

“You bring a few bottles and we might let you in,” Margo said, throwing a wink back at the bartender before herding Quentin toward their quarters. “Can’t take you anywhere, Coldwater.”

“She just wanted a better tip,” Quentin assured her as he navigated the walkways to the smaller buildings divided into suites.

Margo followed him, then cast the spell to let them into the cozily decorated suite. There was a couch and a little dining area. They walked through the bedroom to get to the bathroom, and Quentin couldn’t help but notice there was only one bed.

“Am I sleeping on the couch then?” Quentin asked as he set down the martini glass and the shot glass near Eliot.

Margo set her plate on the side of the Jacuzzi, where she apparently intended to land, then stripped out of what little she had on. As Quentin averted his gaze, she picked up her drinks, moved them next to her plate, and then slipped into the water.

That left Quentin with his plate of eggs and pastry and little tray. “So, um…”

Margo eyed him. “No, sweetie. It’s a big bed. We all sleep in the bed. Unless you want an actual doghouse to sleep in?”

“No!”

Eliot cackled and tipped his head to the side to look over at Quentin. “Sweetheart,” he crooned, expression soft and inviting. “I thought we were past the awkwardness. You like to cuddle. I know you do.” His smile went from soft to predatory. “How well do you remember last night?”

“Not very?” Quentin remembered playing in the waves. Playing chicken with a couple, but he wouldn’t categorize _that_ as cuddling. Then they came back, joined Margo and her friend, ate, smoked, and then Quentin got very sleepy. “I guess we all woke up cuddled together?”

Margo patted a spot on the jacuzzi’s bench to indicate that Quentin should get in. A soak did sound nice. Fun as sleeping on the beach had seemed, he woke up with some aches.

“We did. There was some cuddling, Q.”

“You guys… cuddled me? While I was asleep?” Quentin set his plate and glasses between Eliot and Margo and then walked around to climb up the steps into the bubbling water.

“Not quite.” Margo chuckled and traded a look with Eliot. “You fell asleep in Eliot’s lap. You were kind of clingy and very demanding. Not that we were going to leave you by yourself anyway, but…”

Quentin didn’t remember that at all. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Are you really getting in here with your underwear on?” Margo picked up her martini glass and took a sip. She wrinkled her nose but then shrugged, as if it was acceptable but not what she’d expected.

He was, in fact, already in the water, so Quentin shrugged and made his way to where he’d left his plate. He tried the cocktail and found it rather sweet. He knocked back some prosecco to take the edge off and then settled in. “What is everyone’s obsession with my underwear?”

“That you’re wearing it. Not sure what you think that’s hiding, particularly when wet, but if you’re happy...” Margo relaxed back in the water and fed herself strawberries from her plate.

“I think it’s kind of sexy, actually,” Eliot said, sliding across the jacuzzi to sit closer to Quentin. He brought the food and drink with him. “Very sweet and innocent.” Eliot smiled and reached for Quentin’s plate, nabbing a bite of the pastry. Then he held it out as if to feed Quentin.

Though Quentin suspected this was just another way to call Quentin a virgin, he took a bite. It was really good; he could see why Eliot loved it. “I didn’t do anything crazy last night, did I?”

“You recited poetry to the erection you caused by burying your head in my lap when you were stoned, but that hardly counts as crazy here.” Eliot’s smile widened, and he dragged his sugary fingertip across Quentin’s lips, looking for a moment like he might go in for a kiss. Then he just broke off another piece of pastry and held it up to Quentin’s mouth.

“But I don’t know any poetry.” Quentin wasn’t sure if Eliot was fucking with him. He probably was, but it didn’t really matter. He took another bite of the pastry and pressed his lips together to lick away the sugar. The warm water was doing its job on his aching body, and what that couldn’t fix… Quentin lifted his martini glass for a sip of the sweet cocktail.

“You know _Kubla Khan_ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Maybe not perfectly, but enough that I recognized it.” Margo sat up and popped a few blueberries into her mouth.

“Really?” Quentin looked between them, brows furrowed.

Margo laughed. “Yeah, but we were all reciting poetry. It was the magical weed. Eliot’s cock was a pretty rapt audience. Though in retrospect you may have thought it was a microphone. Anyway, it was a memorable interpretation of an old classic that I will never forget.”

“My cock was _so_ rapt,” Eliot confirmed, leaning in to whisper in Quentin’s ear. “’A savage place as holy and enchanted as e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted by woman wailing for her demon-lover!’ No one’s _ever_ sweet-talked my dick like that. He’s ruined for all others.”

Eliot kissed Quentin’s cheek, chuckling against his skin, and then drew back and sipped his drink. He pursed his lips appraisingly, raised a brow, and nodded. “Not bad.” Another cheek kiss, and then Eliot murmured, sugar-sweet, “Thank you, sweetheart,” and snaked his arm around Quentin’s shoulders.

Quentin leaned in against Eliot. At least he wasn’t angry about it. Quentin wasn’t sure how he’d feel if their roles were reversed. It _was_ pretty funny, though. “The bartender said it’s what’s popular.”

“Oh yeah. _Estella_ was flirting with him. Even made note of our room number.” Margo finished her martini and downed the last of her shot. “She pretty much hates everyone, Q. Maybe she’s a secret poet.”

Eliot had gone tense beside Quentin at that, though his expression still looked the same. He was so hard to read. “Well I suppose I’ll have to keep a close eye on him from now on, protect him from her wiles.”

Margo and Eliot exchanged a look Quentin couldn’t parse, and then Eliot sighed and lifted his hand from Quentin’s shoulder to rest against the side of his head, coaxing it down onto Eliot’s shoulder.

Quentin did as Eliot moved him, mystified as to what that could mean. Was it bad? “She was making fun of my underwear.”

“It’s that sweet and innocent act that gets ‘em.” Margo dipped her fruit in the yogurt, eating it slowly. “I’ll make sure she knows Q’s got a boyfriend. Think that word is spreading quick.”

“What? Who would care?” Quentin shrugged and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth. “I guess other than Roberto. I think I put the scare in him. What’s his deal, anyway? Were you lovers?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Eliot sighed. He played with Quentin’s hair, petting his head where it rested against his shoulder and pressing little kisses to Quentin’s forehead. Eliot was probably the most affectionate friend Quentin had ever had.

“Listen, Q, I’ve done some things I’m not entirely proud of, and Roberto is one of those things. He’s _very_ into his particular kinks, and I had, at one point during last year’s festival, thought it might be worthwhile to indulge those kinks with him. Then he got…clingy, and I realized I wasn’t into mandatory bondage sessions. I prefer bondage on a more casual, intermittent basis. Like…ice cream. It’s delicious and extremely enjoyable, but full-body immobilization is a _lot_ of work, and I just can’t eat three scoops of that every day. So I dropped him, but I think he’s hoping for a repeat. I’m told I’m excellent at sex magic, so it’s understandable, but I’d rather not revisit that dark era.”

“Oh, yeah, well, of course. I mean, you don’t want your bondage too bondagey.” Quentin wasn’t sure what to say to that. He looked at Margo, hoping she’d jump in and say something, change the subject, but it didn’t even look like she was paying attention. “I watched _Fifty Shades of Grey._ ”

That caught Margo’s attention, though she just tilted her head and looked amused.

“I mean, I watched part of it.” Quentin fidgeted and looked up at Eliot. “Wait, who was immobilized?”

“Oh god, bondage boy, not me. I’m not interested in sex I can’t really participate in. He couldn’t do _any_ thing. It was like fucking a very warm corpse.” Eliot shuddered and then added, “It was hot the first time, but then I had _that_ thought, and that was just it for me.”

Eliot laughed a little and tilted his head, messy curls falling across his brow. “So you watched _Fifty Shades_ , huh? That must’ve given you terrible ideas about how all that works. Sex is supposed to be _fun_. You know that, right, Mr. Sweet-and-Innocent? It can be done without all the _sturm und drang_.”

“Of course I know. I’ve had sex before!” Quentin didn’t realize how loudly he’d said it until Margo dropped her grape into the water.

She looked up at him with wide eyes and then tilted her head again. “So you keep saying.”

Quentin was weirdly unnerved by the whole thing, feeling ridiculous and way outclassed. It was like being in high school all over again, only now the cool kids wanted him at their table, and he was starting to feel like the whole thing was just a big joke.

“Hey.” Margo scooted closer. “Listen, I’m just giving you shit. It’s out of affection. We want you here. We want to share this with you. We’re having fun, right? And you got Eliot out of there like a pro. Right, El?”

“Oh my god, for real, you saved me. I thought Roberto was going to fling himself at my flaccid dick and start slurping for a moment there, which really, I understand I incite by flaunting this magnificent wang so casually, but it’s _Encanto_. I expect a certain class of magician here. You know, the kind who can control their pining.” Eliot’s brows had drawn together over his aquiline nose, and he was looking at Quentin as if about to apologize or something.

Then Eliot downed his drink instead and gave Quentin some space. “I really appreciated you letting me hide behind you. I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable. It didn’t even… I should’ve asked. I know you’re not… You know.”

“Not _what_? I’m not a virgin, I swear!” Quentin sat up and started to get his feet beneath him, but Margo grabbed him by the shoulder and kept him there. He turned to her and said, “What?”

She sat back and held her hands up. “Don’t bark at me, Q.”

“Sorry.” Quentin rubbed his forehead. “It just feels like I don’t belong here.”

“But you _do_ , Q. You’re…” Eliot looked miserable for a moment before he smoothed his expression again and shoved a piece of his pastry in his mouth. He took a moment to chew and then, finally, clarified, “I wasn’t going to say you’re not _sexually active_. I was _going_ to say you’re not queer. Or out, anyway, if you are? And I sort of put you in the position to pretend to be my boyfriend without asking you if that was okay.”

Eliot seemed to rally. “But you’re a really good friend, and you didn’t leave me hanging, and I appreciate that. I was just trying to…communicate. I was told communicating was really important for us.”

“Oh.” Quentin blushed. “I didn’t mind that. I don’t… I mean…”

“You guys should kiss and make up.” Margo leaned back, swiped Quentin’s martini, and polished it off. “Eliot, if Quentin were worried about a closet, he probably wouldn’t have been rubbing up against you on the dance floor. Quentin, if we didn’t want you here, it was easy enough not to invite you. All right? Okay, now kiss.”

Quentin looked up at Eliot. He put his hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “I’m happy to be your fake boyfriend, Eliot.”

Eliot’s sudden smile stole Quentin’s breath, and then Eliot leaned in, cupped Quentin’s cheek, and kissed him slowly and thoroughly. After a few, long, pulse-pounding moments, Eliot pulled back, still smiling, and said, “Good, because honestly, I need one.”

“Yeah? I can do that.” Quentin relaxed, at least as much as he could after that kiss. “I mean, I get it. I’m not known for kissing boys. Or anyone, apparently.”

He flashed Margo a quick look, and she smiled back at him. “I’ll behave from now on. I promise.”

“I can be your fake boyfriend too, if you want.”

Margo leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Thanks, Q, but breaking hearts and squashing dreams is half the fun.”

“You’re a little scary sometimes.” Quentin grinned as she took his hand.

“Just sometimes? I’m falling down on the job.” She gave his hand a squeeze and a pat and backed off. “All right. I’m going to go shower, start getting ready. You boys be good. Don’t let him get you out of your underwear, Q.”

“Oh suck a dick, Margo,” Eliot retorted, making a face at her, but then he reached for her and dragged her close enough to give her a kiss. This one was relatively chaste, but there was so much tenderness in it, like whatever there was between Eliot and Margo held room both for insults and kisses.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Margo pressed her forehead to Eliot’s, smiling gently. “You going to be okay, or should I take the puppy with me?”

“I’m sitting right here.” Quentin looked between them and sighed. “And that’s fake boyfriend to you.”

“Damn right you’re my fake boyfriend.” Eliot grinned at Quentin and then nuzzled Margo briefly before making a shooing motion. “Go on, gorgeous. Take your shower. I’d hate to hold up your ‘personal’ time.”

As Margo drew away, Eliot hugged Quentin sideways and left his arm around Quentin’s shoulders as he resumed picking at his pastry. “So, boyfriend, we’re going to need to eat up, drink up, and dress up because today is going to be _wild_ , and now that you’re my boyfriend, you’re going to have to keep up. My virtue could be at stake. Only you, my hero, can protect me.”

“Ah so now we have to worry about _your_ virginity?” Quentin grinned and scooted in, opening his mouth to take a bite from Eliot’s pastry. “What do you mean by wild? And define keeping up, because you know I’ll just fall asleep.”

He was pretty sure at this point that Eliot was just teasing him, but Quentin latched on to at least having some purpose being there beyond the butt of everyone’s joke.

"Well…” Eliot raised a brow and held his pastry away with a playfully threatening look. “You _just_ woke up, so if we go hit the club early, the party will still be going from last night, but we can get in some rolling before you pass out.”

Eliot turned his head to take a bite of his pastry, keeping it carefully out of Quentin’s reach. He chewed and swallowed and then eyed Quentin mischievously. “As for wild… There will be orgies just…everywhere. And there will be foam on the floor and water coming from the ceiling, and occasionally champagne will spray over everyone in a given area, and the magical drug use is just…rampant. It’s de rigueur. You basically have to partake. _I_ will be partaking. Heavily. I guess if you want to be my designated driver, you can do that, but it won’t be nearly as fun as just getting shitfaced with me and making out on the floor wearing nothing but booty shorts and high heeled boots.”

Then, as if to soften the effect of that slightly frightening idea, Eliot tore his pastry in half and shared with Quentin, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Quentin took a bite and grinned.

“I’m going to have to partake or I’ll just sit in the corner feeling sorry for myself.” Quentin inhaled deeply. “Which of us are wearing the high heeled boots? Because I can barely make out with you now. But then, rolling and on the dance floor, I’d probably break my ankles, so we should all keep that in mind.”

He paused and rested against the back of the jacuzzi, enjoying how the jet battered that spot between his shoulder blades. “You’re going to have to get the really good stuff if you want me in booty shorts. Also, I need booty shorts.”

“I have _so many_ booty shorts, Q. Just… so many. They’re like…queer couture booty shorts made to really show off your junk, and I know just an _excellent_ tailoring charm.” Eliot seemed way more excited than he should be. Raising his voice, he practically shouted, “Margo, are you thinking what I’m thinking? _Slutty makeover!”_

Then, resuming his normal volume, Eliot tilted his head and eyed Quentin speculatively. “How do you feel about a smoky eye?”

“I think you’re going to have to give me a lot of drugs.” Quentin chuckled to himself, not at all doubting that Eliot would do just that. But he was here, and if he was going to take on the role of being Eliot’s pretend boyfriend, he would at least need to _look_ like he might be fun.

Margo turned in the shower and shouted back, “Slutty makeover already? Damn, you work fast.”

She looked pleased, though. Water rushed down her body, smoothing her long, dark hair down over her shoulders. She turned to the side in a brief pose, apparently since Quentin was watching, before she turned back to wash up.

“Margo’s never needed a slutty makeover,” Eliot said as if confiding in Quentin. “She was just _born_ delicious. I was not. I understand your difficult path, Q. And I will be as gentle as possible in reshaping you into a boss-ass bitch. If it worked for _me_ , it will work for you.”

Then Eliot popped the last of his pastry into his mouth and smiled wide, eyes sparkling.

And that was the closest Eliot had ever really come to telling Quentin anything about his mysterious past. As far as Quentin had known, Eliot was born delicious like Margo, sprung as a fully formed fabulous queer straight from his well-heeled parents’ wildest dreams, complete with those cool little vests, cigarette in one hand and expensive scotch in the other.

“Yeah? Did she give you a slutty makeover? Why do you say it like that? Were you a high-strung super nerd?” It was hard to imagine Eliot as anything but the laid back glamazon that he was. Still, beneath all that glamor, Quentin felt like Eliot understood him. There was a sadness in him in those rare moments that he was still.

Quentin hadn’t told anyone beyond Fogg that he really was clinically depressed. He’d gone off his meds for about a week before getting them refilled. He wasn’t just a frustrated magician. Or maybe he had been, but it had permanently changed his brain chemistry. That was just facts.

“Oh, no, I was already perfect by the time I met Bambi, but when I got the fuck out of high school, I totally reinvented myself. It was a massive undertaking, the details of which I have shared only with people in this room.” Eliot sounded so flippant about it, but Quentin recognized a deeper pain there, that hint of anguish that had always made Eliot so compelling.

“Margo’s my real family now,” he murmured. Then Eliot ran the pad of his thumb over Quentin’s jawline and smiled at him, voice very soft. “Maybe you’ll be that to me too someday, if you want. If I don’t scare you away.”

“I’d like that.”

Quentin wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. He’d said it without thinking, and it was what he meant, but sometimes his earnestness was off-putting. Then again, Eliot started it, and it really didn’t seem like a taunt.

“I’m harder to scare than you might think. Sometimes I need a little time to think things through. For example, I finally realized that walking around in my underwear made me more noticeable than if I just put on shorts. Here, at least. So, you know. Plus, I should look like I _could_ be your boyfriend if I’m playing the part, I guess.”

Quentin was a little excited about it if he was being honest. Letting go of the idea that Margo and Eliot brought him along to humiliate him meant he could let go of the idea that he _should_ feel humiliated. Eliot was proud to dress how he wanted, as was Margo.

Dressing like them was bringing him into their world, not trying to hurt him.

He took Eliot’s hand and looked at him intently. “You won’t let me recite poetry to other penises, will you?”

“Oh, no, baby boy. This dick is yours now. Recite poetry to mine if you must, but don’t spread that around.” Eliot smirked and twined their fingers together before leaning in and kissing the corner of Quentin’s mouth. Then, sitting back and studying him, he confessed, “I was a high school drama nerd. We’re talking all the musicals, all the time. Singing, dancing, emoting to the back of the auditorium. I wasn’t cool until college. Don’t get _too_ intimidated, okay? You’re totally boyfriend material.”

“Really? I always kind of wanted to do that, but the idea of everyone watching me… which is sort of the point. It was always sort of a simultaneously thrilling and scary prospect. I probably would’ve watched and wished I could be you.” In some ways, that was how Quentin felt now. “I wasn’t really anything in high school. Smart, I guess. Quiet. Except with Julia and James.”

“Mm I…didn’t really have…” Eliot fell silent, awkward for once, and then pulled away, giving off an air of busyness again. It seemed so rare he just sat and _felt_ anything, when that was all Quentin ever did. “Go on, take off your undies. You need to get the sand off before you shimmy into booty shorts, trust me.”

Then he called out to Margo, “Revoke your moratorium on naked Quentin. His sandy buttcrack needs the Jacuzzi jet blessing.” Addressing himself more quietly to Quentin, he said, “It’s not like keeping them on would stop me from blowing you anyway.”

“What?” Quentin’s brain shorted out as he just stared at Eliot.

Margo shouted from the shower. “Wait, no! He’s not ready for buttstuff!”

“ _What_?” Quentin stared as Margo came running naked from the shower.

“He can take a shower,” Margo said, reaching for Quentin.

“What?” Quentin looked between them, waiting for his question to be answered.

“Goddamn it, Eliot, you broke him. Now we’ve got to shut him down and see if rebooting fixes it.” Margo laughed as she moved around to where Eliot was and rubbed his shoulders roughly.

Eliot’s bottom lip jutted out, and he released a mighty, put-upon sigh. “I’m trying to show him the ways of the world, Bambi. He’s so _innocent_. He _needs my help_.” Eliot craned his neck to look up at Margo. “It’s just a little water pressure on the butthole while getting a teensy BJ. I was _easing him in_. He’d be _fine_. It’s not like _I_ was going to touch his butt.”

“Whaaat?” Quentin looked between them again. He was going to get a blowjob? And something with the jet? “What does this have to do with a slutty makeover?”

Margo wrapped her arms around Eliot and put her head on his shoulder. “What’s the point of a slutty makeover if you’re not going to be a slut?”

She had a point.

Quentin held up his hand and tilted his head. “Um. I guess. Um. Hm.”

“You should let him touch your butt, Q. Maybe not today, but I can assure you, he’s good at butt touching.” Margo kissed Eliot’s cheek. “Okay, well you two figure it out; I’m going to get dressed. But if a blowjob starts happening, someone yell.”

“As you command, Queen Bambi. Go forth and outfit yourself in glorious raiment.” Eliot caressed her cheek as she slipped away and then returned his attention to Quentin, looking remarkably composed and relaxed, like they hadn’t just been talking about doing things to Quentin’s butt.

Not that Quentin was particularly spooked by that, at least, no more than he was by anything else that was going on. He wasn’t super wrapped up in masculinity or a particular perception of himself as a straight guy. He could admit that he found Eliot attractive. Objectively, Eliot was.

Eliot flirting with him had never bothered Quentin. Eliot flirted with a lot of people, which was why Quentin never took the flirtation very seriously. Even after the blow job, which had seemed like mostly a one-off, but now he was talking about it again, or joking about it.

It wasn’t as if Quentin was a stranger to casual sex. If he was, he really would be a virgin. Casual sex was pretty much all he’d had, and it had been fine. But it was very, very casual in that nothing ever came of it.

Since it usually occurred with people he didn’t really see every day, it hadn’t really bothered him, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Eliot’s interest. If it was interest and not just teasing.

“Yeah, so um, should I shower?”

Eliot sighed heavily. “Well, if you’re not going to avail yourself of a jacuzzi jet butt blast, then I’m going to have to suggest showering.” He seemed mildly annoyed, as if his plans had been thwarted, but Quentin couldn’t tell if it was put-on or genuine.

That was, honestly, ninety percent of interacting with Eliot. Quentin guessed it made more sense now, knowing Eliot had given himself a slutty makeover from a drama nerd into Brakebills’ reigning party king and sex god. That stuff probably didn’t go all the way down.

Unless it did. Quentin never really knew.

Eliot stood, water streaming down his skin as his long legs took him up, and up, and up. Then he held out his hands to Quentin and smiled down at him. “Let’s shower together. Margo really needs the space to herself for reasons you will better understand when you’ve known her as long as I have, but trust me when I say you want me to loofah your gritty back. Sleeping on the beach is so much more romantic in theory.”

“I think right now I’d just like to keep my relationship with the jacuzzi more professional.” Quentin smiled shyly and let his hair fall in his face as he stood up with Eliot. It probably was strange to keep insisting on keeping his underwear on. Eliot had seen it. He’d had it in his mouth.

He followed Eliot out of the jacuzzi and headed to the shower. Outside of it, still hiding behind his hair, Quentin slid his underwear off and left it on the floor, curling his toes against the tile. He couldn’t quite make himself meet Eliot’s gaze, so he just headed into the shower, leaving the door open for Eliot to join him.

Eliot followed after taking a moment to arrange big fluffy robes for them both close at hand. Then he stepped into the shower and took control, which was good because it was huge and extremely complicated, with all kinds of dials and knobs as well as what appeared to be stone benches for sitting on and textured floor sections that probably did something or other. Everything smelled _clean_ , the way Quentin imagined a rainforest would smell, green and fresh and bright.

“Okay, stand in the center,” Eliot directed, waiting for Quentin to obey before he turned on an enormous rainfall showerhead above them. The water fell down soft and warm, not like the bracing spray from the showers Quentin had known all his life, but gentle and weirdly natural.

“Nice, right?” Eliot prompted. “Now, wait for it…”

A moment later, more soft, rapid rain hit him at an angle, striking his back from the shower wall. This felt less natural, following a pattern over his skin that provided a relaxing, gentle massage. Then Eliot flipped another switch, and the same thing happened from the other side. Within moments, the water was hitting Quentin from every angle, up and down his body, even better than the jets of the jacuzzi had been because these were _everywhere_.

Then Eliot stepped into the center with Quentin, his long body blocking the water’s flow from the front, and Eliot dragged his hands over Quentin’s back, something spongey and a little scratchy in them, probably the loofah.

It was impossible to look up at Eliot with the water pouring down like that, plastering Quentin’s hair to his face, and he still wasn’t sure he wanted to risk eye contact, especially now they were both naked and standing very close together. Then Eliot leaned in and nestled his chin above Quentin’s head, blocking the water from striking his face and bringing Quentin’s chin in against Eliot’s bare chest as he scrubbed Quentin’s back. It was weirdly, remarkably, like a particularly passionate embrace except there was a scrubby sponge involved.

Quentin pressed his face against Eliot’s chest and closed his eyes, deciding to just enjoy the sensations and not think about things too much. He wrapped his arms around Eliot’s middle and exhaled, trying to let the tension go.

It was really nice to feel so cared for and pampered, and he did really like being held. It didn’t surprise him much that he was cuddly when he was that high. He often found himself wanting contact but not really knowing how to go about getting it without being creepy. Or maybe he wasn’t creepy; he just didn’t know how to navigate affection. He liked when Eliot pulled him in like this.

Being naked made him feel extra vulnerable, which made the contact nicer. For whatever dumb reason, he had the urge to cry, which he fought even though in the shower being rained on was probably one of the few times he could get away with it, but he didn’t want to make things weird. Or weirder than he was probably already making it.

Eliot didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he was pretending not to. He just stroked Quentin’s back and shoulders with the loofah and held him close. After a few moments of drifting, racing thoughts, Quentin realized Eliot was humming a love song and swaying with him, turning him slowly bit by bit. The textured floor gave them secure footing, and Eliot seemed to have decided a slow dance was the best way to spend their shower.

Quentin let out a soft sigh and melted against Eliot, trusting his weight against him as they swayed, just following along, feeding off the quiet intimacy. This wasn’t something he’d really shared with anyone. Not being completely naked and feeling so exposed.

The strange thing to him was how safe he felt. Sure, Eliot had talked about butt blasts or whatever, but he didn’t press. That relaxed Quentin and made him feel clingy and fluttery inside. He tilted his head up and pressed kisses to Eliot’s neck, feeling the blood rushing to his ears, pulse racing.

Eliot stilled for a second like he was processing the contact and then dropped the loofah and ran his empty hands over Quentin’s back, caressing it as the water battered against them, creating a strange blend of almost too much sensation. It was good though, stimulating where the water hit him and soothing wherever Eliot’s hands stroked. It was like Eliot was a haven from the too-muchness of this wild place, and Quentin just wanted to burrow into him.

Then Eliot shifted and brushed his lips over Quentin’s forehead, over each eyebrow in turn. He kissed the bridge of Quentin’s nose and then the tip before teasing at his lips, claiming them with slow, irresistible confidence. Quentin opened his mouth to let Eliot in, and Eliot kissed him sweetly, all darting tongue and caressing lips, big hands leaving Quentin’s back to instead block the water from striking his face, gentle on Quentin’s cheeks and jaw.

Quentin stroked Eliot’s back, taking the opportunity to just touch him, feeling his skin even as his hands were almost assaulted by the water. The whole situation felt surreal, more like something out of a dream than reality, but a good dream that Quentin didn’t want to end.

He ran his hands up Eliot’s long back and then up into his hair then to his cheeks. Quentin broke the kiss for air but kept his head tilted up to gaze into his eyes. “You want me to wash your back?”

“Mm far be it from me to turn down such an offer.” Eliot smiled at him lazily and then held out his hand. The loofah leapt into it telekinetically, and he handed it to Quentin. A little smirk touched his eyes, and he whispered, “You can wash my ass too, if you’re feeling frisky.”

Then Eliot claimed another kiss, brief and playful, before turning his back to Quentin to be scrubbed.

“Can I wash your hair?” Quentin wasn’t sure _why_ he wanted to do that, but he really had this vision of washing Eliot. Cleaning his whole body, including his hair. He wasn’t sure if it was sexual or affection, and at the moment, he didn’t think it really mattered. He wanted to take care of Eliot and have Eliot feel taken care of, the way that Quentin had sheltered under his chin.

“Mm yesss,” Eliot hissed, sounding so pleased it warmed Quentin to the core. “Why don’t I sit on a bench so you can reach better?”

It was rhetorical though, because Eliot headed straight for one of the stone benches and settled in with his back to Quentin. Then he flicked his hand at the control switches, turning off all but the overhead rainfall, which made it easier to see and focus. It also, somehow, made it more obvious they were both naked together, alone, in a large, luxurious shower room and that Eliot had an amazing profile turned only partially toward Quentin like that.

He extended his arm toward Quentin and beckoned, seeming wholly unselfconscious about the situation. That helped Quentin feel less self-conscious about it, like this was just a normal thing that friends did.

It wasn’t. Quentin knew that. He’d had friends, but he’d never felt the urge to take care of them like this.

Eliot pointed at the shampoo and conditioner he preferred, and Quentin brought them both to the bench and stood behind him. Quentin poured shampoo on his hands, probably too much, and listened while Eliot explained not to pile his hair up but just soap it at the roots or his curly hair would tangle.

Taking that very seriously, Quentin moved his hands onto Eliot’s scalp, working the soap in lightly while also giving a gentle massage, taking his time, working from the nape up to Eliot’s crown. Eliot rolled his shoulders like he was relaxing and dropped his chin to his chest with a luxurious sigh.

“You have such good hands,” Eliot murmured, sounding sleepy and lusty at the same time. “Just…yeah, like that. Mm.” He all but purred as Quentin worked his fingertips into Eliot’s scalp, careful to scrub out all the gritty sand left from swimming in the sea and sleeping on the beach.

“I’ve never done this before. I mean, for someone else.”

Quentin went section by section, making sure all the soap and sand washed away. Spending this kind of quiet time with Eliot was nice enough that Quentin mostly forgot that they were both naked. Eliot made it feel like no big deal, and that energy drove Quentin’s calmness.

Once he was satisfied that the suds had been rinsed out, Quentin squeezed a generous amount of conditioner onto his hands and started massaging it into the ends as Eliot instructed, working it in slowly. Then he left it and started to soap Eliot’s back, spreading his fingers over El’s skin, sudsing him up with his fingertips before he used the loofah to gently scrub away any remnants of sand.

Eliot moaned like he’d never felt anything so good and sagged against the wall of the shower, all the tension going out of him. Quentin had never seen him that mellowed sober, or at least, _this_ sober. Then he shifted around, standing for a moment and then _kneeling_ on the bench instead with his back to Quentin, which had the result of making Quentin suddenly _very_ aware of how naked Eliot actually was.

He seemed totally relaxed about it, though, like it was no big deal his ass was sticking out a bit and the water hitting his shoulders and back was all funneling down the cleft of his ass, diverted by the roundness of his cheeks. Like it was no big deal his private parts were all more or less on display, depending on Quentin’s angle.

Not that he was trying to look from any particular angle. It was just facts. It was a thing that was happening.

Eliot glanced back over his shoulder as if wondering at the hold-up in the loofahing process, and gave Quentin a soft, tiny smile.

“You waiting for a butt blast?” Quentin gave Eliot a brief, wicked grin before he was too embarrassed to keep that up and looked away. “I don’t know how to work the water, so um…”

He set the loofah down on the bench and spread more soap on his hands to work into Eliot’s lower back and then down to his cheeks.

Quentin bit his lip. It was just a butt. His friend’s butt, and somewhere that sand probably did collect.

Still, it wasn’t an area he normally touched on anyone beyond himself. The cheeks themselves were no problem for him. He even enjoyed giving the undersides of them a little squeeze. Further than that, though, he wasn’t sure if he should.

“Do you want me to, um… Is that…Um.”

“I didn’t even expect you to get _that_ far,” Eliot purred, sounding delighted with Quentin. “I just wanted you to get both sides of my back and shoulders equally. But I mean, I’m never going to turn down a good gluteal massage.”

Before Quentin could die of mortification, Eliot turned his head, reached for Quentin, and pulled him in by the hair, dragging him into a slow, consuming kiss over Eliot’s shoulder. The kiss was good at displacing Quentin’s immediate worry that he’d crossed the line. Thank god he’d stopped to ask before he really went wild. He was such a dirty pervert.

Then a thought popped in his head, and he started to giggle into the kiss. When Eliot pulled back, Quentin said, “Sorry I made such a big _ass_ -umption.”

“Oh my god,” Eliot whispered, like Quentin had farted on him or something, just revolted. “That was _terrible_.” Then he started laughing too, despite himself, and Quentin saw him rolling his eyes as he shook his head, apparently baffled that he found it amusing.

After a giddy moment, Eliot asked more seriously, “Is this what it’s like dating you? Just…more sex, I assume. Or maybe not. I don’t want to _ass_ -ume.”

“Unexpected butt rubs or puns. Because… that was my first real butt rub, but puns are always in season, and you know that.”

It was a strange question to ask. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer for real. “Um, maybe not, actually. I try not to say too much on a date. You think I should make more puns?”

“Oh my god, no.” Eliot laughed and dragged Quentin in close again, kissing him thoroughly between raspy chuckles.

Then Eliot twisted and sat on the bench again, this time facing Quentin, and pulled Quentin down next to him to continue their kisses. Both of Eliot’s hands went to the sides of Quentin’s neck, fingertips curled around his nape as Eliot kissed him harder. Quentin became peripherally aware that Eliot was turned on—he was making soft, hungry little sounds into their kiss—and as Eliot twisted to get closer, Quentin realized his cock was probably hard too, that Eliot was getting really into this despite his protests at Quentin’s puns.

Quentin was getting really into it, too. His body responded to the touches and kisses, but Quentin wondered if he should stop this. Where was this going? Did it need to go anywhere? Or if it did go somewhere, if Eliot sucked him off again or if Quentin gave Eliot a hand job, would it change things?

The last blowjob didn’t seem to have changed too much beyond Eliot’s ability to make him blush when he brought it up. Before that Eliot had teased him mercilessly, and Quentin hadn’t reacted much. Now he knew what that was like…and that Eliot would actually follow through. Or at least he had.

Quentin broke the kiss, not sure what he should be doing, and asked, “Is this what it’s like to date you?”

“Mm wouldn’t you like to know?” Eliot teased, but it was gentle, almost yearning, and he lipped at Quentin’s mouth again like he couldn’t bear to stop kissing him. Then he sighed and sat back a little, hands sliding down Quentin’s shoulders to his arms to his hands before he twined their fingers.

“I don’t…date, in general. I’ve…cultivated a lifestyle and persona such that sexual partnerships don’t generally last. Margo’s my life partner, if you don’t think too hard about the fact I’m a Kinsey five, and Margo definitely deserves way more dick than I am motivated to supply. But how I am with Margo, how I am with you right now…” Eliot shrugged, looking more earnest than Quentin was accustomed to seeing him. Maybe it was the water beading on those long eyelashes. “Yeah, this is how I treat people I care about.”

“Yeah.” Quentin nodded and squeezed Eliot’s hands, thinking about what he said. “I don’t really know what a Kinsey five means, but is that why you brought me? So Margo can get more dick?”

Eliot stared for a moment and then pursed his lips, clearly suppressing laughter. “Does Margo give the impression she can’t catch any dick she wants?” A slow, sly smile overtook Eliot’s features. “Maybe we brought you because we enjoy your company. We’d been talking about adopting a puppy… And if it turns out our beautiful puppy boy likes groping my ass, then all the better.”

Still smiling, Eliot brought Quentin’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them, gazing into his eyes. “You’re so charming, Q. We _like_ you. You’re just…genuine. You’re real. Do you know how hard everyone tries to impress us? How thrilling it is to meet this…cute little nerd who will absolutely pop off at us for any and every reason?”

Eliot lowered their hands to rest on his thigh and tilted his head to the side. “You’re an original, Q. Unique. Margo and I are well-known pursuers of the original and unique. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise, really.”

“I don’t pop off.” Quentin blushed and leaned forward to try and hide behind his wet hair. It was nice hearing that he was appreciated, though. “I mean, other than on my birthday. That was some real popping off.”

He knew Eliot would say something about that, so Quentin quickly changed the subject. “I haven’t cultivated any persona to avoid dating. I think that’s just my personality. Uncultivated. Kinda just me, I guess. Literature dork.”

“Oh now _Fillory and Further_ is real literature,” Eliot teased, but he was smiling and his voice sounded so soft and fond. “And you’re right. Your personality is just your personality, and it’s a good personality. A little spooked, a little neurotic, but…” He sighed, smile widening. “That’s what makes you my favorite puppy.”

Then he leaned in again, slow, and rubbed his lips against Quentin’s, nose sliding alongside his, more nuzzling than kissing, just breathing together.

“I was a literature undergrad.” Quentin pouted a little at Eliot. They were good books, and they’d saved his life. They’d given him somewhere to go mentally when he needed to and made him believe he could be something special. And hey, he was magic, so he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Really, he didn’t want to argue about it, not when he was this close to Eliot and how good it felt. But then, nice as this was, Eliot was cultivated to be in the moment. It didn’t really mean the same thing to him. Which, really, maybe that didn’t matter anyway. Maybe Quentin should just enjoy what was there when it was there.

“I’m just playing,” Eliot whispered, kissing Quentin’s pout. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?” Eliot looked into Quentin’s eyes and kissed him again and again, nipping at his mouth gently. “Sometimes I’m a little shamed by your intellect. You and Margo get each other on this whole other level that I just…don’t.”

A small frown formed between his brows then, and he let out a shaky breath. He looked on the verge of saying something real, something meaningful, and then clammed up and looked away.

“Don’t go away; tell me what you were going to say.” Quentin held Eliot’s chin, turning his face back to him. “You’re very intelligent. Maybe not a book reader. I think it’s just Margo and I had similar escapes from uncomfortable things in books. But yeah, a lot of those were children’s books. I really only majored in literature because it’s the only thing I cared about. Also, I read fast.”

Eliot squirmed uncomfortably, like he dearly wanted to escape, but he didn’t jerk away. He just stared at a spot somewhere beyond Quentin, blinking in the slow, drizzling rainfall from the showerhead. His lips moved slowly, like he was testing out syllables. Finally, so soft Quentin could barely hear him, he said, “My father thought reading was for sissies. I was not allowed to be a sissy.”

Then, lips warping into an acidic smile, Eliot flicked his gaze to Quentin’s. “I guess I never picked up the habit.”

“That’s awful.” Quentin felt tears spring to his eyes, which was silly; he was being too emotional about it, probably, but reading had been so comforting to him and to think of someone—Eliot’s father even—keeping that from him was gutting. Then Quentin gave a morbid smile. “Looks like it worked. You sure aren’t a sissy now.”

He stroked the side of Eliot’s face, just caressing him, stroking his neck and his cheek, touching his lips. “I think you’re amazing. Reader or not. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your fake boyfriend. You light up a room, and it’s not just because you’re sexy. Maybe if I’d spent more time trying to be myself, instead of trying to escape myself, I’d be more like you. I wish I was.”

“No, Q, you don’t want to be like me.” Eliot shook his head but tilted into Quentin’s petting, chasing it like a housecat. “You’re amazing just as you are. So amazing. Just… You need to believe in yourself.”

After a moment, he pulled away and stood, seeming overwhelmed. He moved to stand in the center of the room, directly beneath the most insistent spray, and rinsed the conditioner from his sodden curls with harsh, agitated gestures.

“I’m sorry.” Quentin said it reflexively, not sure what he was sorry about. Maybe not rinsing his conditioner more purposefully. Or bringing down the mood. Or… he really didn’t know. “I like you a lot. I wouldn’t let just anyone give me a slutty makeover.”

He got the shampoo from the bench and worked it through his own hair and then started soaping up his body. Might as well get clean now.

“ _Don’t_ be sorry,” Eliot snipped, giving Quentin the most exasperated look before he came to rejoin him and took over for Quentin, running soapy hands over his skin with tender vigor, somehow careful and frustrated at once. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, “It’s not you, Q. It’s not your fault. I’m just…”

Eliot pulled a face and then laughed bitterly. “I’m a mess, Quentin. I’m trying to get closer to you, but I am _really_ bad at it. It’s like…as soon as I make a little progress, I freak out. I’m just…” He trailed off, seeming very absorbed in washing Quentin’s chest and belly.

“I think we’re getting pretty close. I came here to get closer to you, too.” Quentin watched Eliot’s hands on his body, trying not to get too aroused by it or let his imagination run rampant. It felt really good, though, and Quentin wasn’t really used to people touching him so much. “I’m just trying to say I really like you.”

Eliot cleared his throat and smiled at Quentin, expression so vulnerable Quentin felt certain this was the real Eliot and not the persona. “I really like you too, Quentin Coldwater.”

Then Eliot soaped lower, and lower, over Quentin’s stomach and hipbones, gazing at him intently as he reached for Quentin’s cock. Quentin drew in a quick breath as Eliot touched him. He tensed, and his mouth opened as he gasped for breath.

There was no denying his interest in Eliot touching him, especially with Eliot looking at him like that when he did it. He eyed Eliot, then leaned in and kissed him deeply, pulling him in closer, holding him by the nape, maybe harder than he strictly needed to.

Eliot groaned like that was just what he wanted and shifted as close as he could get, his larger body pressing into Quentin’s as they kissed and Eliot’s soapy hand worked Quentin’s shaft firmly. And Eliot hadn’t forgotten anything he learned during that blowjob, it seemed like, because he rubbed against Quentin’s frenulum just right with the pad of his thumb, teasing that sensitive spot until Quentin was panting into his mouth.

Then Eliot’s lips were on Quentin’s ear, breath hot against his skin, and he jerked Quentin steadily as he whispered to him. “You’re so sexy, Q. Gonna make you come for me again. Can’t stop thinking about the last time. Your little sounds, your hands in my hair…”

Eliot bit off a little moan and buried his face against Quentin’s throat, his hand never slowed. “All I’m ever waiting for is a good excuse,” he murmured and then suckled Quentin’s flushed neck, probably leaving a bruise.

Quentin pressed Eliot’s head against him, not even caring that he was marking him, or maybe wanting it. He really didn’t know. What he _did_ know was that he wanted to touch Eliot, too.

Moving before he could overthink it, Quentin shifted into Eliot’s lap, straddling him with his knees on either side of Eliot’s legs on the bench. He reached between them and wrapped his hand around Eliot’s cock, breaking away long enough to look at Eliot to make sure that was all right.

“Please,” Eliot whispered, voice raw, gaze intense on Quentin’s. He exhaled raggedly and tipped his face toward Quentin’s, beseeching more kisses, and as Quentin leaned in to oblige him, Eliot made a soft, pleased sound that went straight to Quentin’s core, affirming and sweet, encouraging, like Quentin was doing this right, like Eliot really wanted it like this.

Eliot probably knew him well enough to understand that Quentin hadn’t done this before. Not with someone else’s dick, anyway. He’d thought about it, thought about this with Eliot, in particular. He rubbed his hand against his soapy abdomen and then returned to grabbing Eliot’s cock, pulling firmly, doing it the way that he knew that he liked, hoping that it was what Eliot liked, too. If not, well, he was sure Eliot would show him.

Quentin felt giddy and strangely powerful like this. He kissed Eliot hard, eagerly, bumping their faces together in sheer enthusiasm. Someone split a lip, but Quentin wasn’t even sure who, and he didn’t really care.

Braced with his arm around Eliot’s shoulder, Quentin fucked Eliot’s hand, whimpering into their kiss until he couldn’t maintain it any longer and then pressed his forehead to Eliot’s, breathing loudly and letting out little moans that bounced off the stone tiles in the large shower.

“That’s it, Q,” Eliot said, voice husky with desire. He rocked under Quentin, moving to meet his grip, shivering and licking his lips. He tightened his grip on Quentin with a growl then, making everything more intense all at once. “Let me hear you, baby. Say my name. Say my name while you’re jerking my cock with those beautiful fingers.”

Quentin tried to be coherent, to make sounds in an order that made sense, but it was a real struggle. He was so aroused, and he wasn’t going to last long like this. He clung harder to Eliot, resting his chin on Eliot’s shoulder as his body drew up.

“Yes… Eliot…” He managed to say his name again a few more times, growing louder in a collision of syllables. Trembling hard, Quentin started to release, making a loud, tortured noise that echoed around the room.

“Quentin,” Eliot whispered, exultant, milking the pleasure from Quentin in steady strokes and babbling about how beautiful Quentin was. He kissed Quentin’s jaw, his cheek, his hair, all the while making these soft, possessive noises and holding Quentin with one arm, sheltering him against Eliot’s larger body as Quentin shook completely apart. “Oh, Quentin. Quentin, Quentin.”

Quentin slowly rubbed Eliot’s cock, still trying to get him off, but he was so tired. So exhausted from coming so hard. The water was already washing away the evidence, but Quentin could still feel it, still knew what they’d done.

After he caught his breath, Quentin asked, “What do you need from me? What do you need… to get you off?”

Eliot kissed Quentin slowly, in soft little bursts so Quentin could breathe, and whispered, “Aww sleepy boy.”

He laughed a little, seeming oddly charmed by Quentin’s exhaustion, probably thinking Quentin needed to work on his stamina. Then he covered Quentin’s hand with his own, curling his fingers snug around Eliot’s thick shaft, and started stroking again with Quentin along for the ride. As they jerked Eliot faster, Eliot resumed kissing Quentin in those sweet little intermittent snatches, just hard enough, just deep enough, that Quentin had to focus on breathing in between.

Quentin kept up with Eliot, though. Sleepy wasn’t the right word for how he felt, though he was a bit embarrassed. He didn’t have marathon sex sessions; that just wasn’t how his life was. That wasn’t how _most people_ lived, at least as far as he knew.

But he worked Eliot, kissing him and pulling on him, looking down at his hand, rolling his thumb over the tip, hardly believing he was doing this. Or not doing this, if Eliot was just using his hand. He tried not to feel too self-conscious about it. It was possible he just didn’t really do it for Eliot, and given what else was out there, he could hardly blame him.

“Quentin,” Eliot sighed against his lips, sounding exasperated but fond. “You’re thinking _so_ loud. Just relax and kiss me, okay? Everything’s perfect, and we’re on vacation, and there’s a hot boy in my lap with his hand on my cock.”

Nosing against Quentin’s cheek, Eliot trailed little kisses over his face and whispered, “You’re doing so well, Q. This is all I need, yeah? No pressure. I’m close. Just…a little more.”

“Yeah?” Quentin blushed and tried to relax. He leaned against Eliot, taking the kisses as they came and watched himself working Eliot’s cock. Thinking too loud. Well that always was his problem. Apparently it wasn’t just Penny.

Quentin focused, biting his lip, then leaned in to kiss Eliot again, this time more assertively, kissing him hard enough that he couldn’t think too deeply about it. Eliot responded with an eager moan and opened his mouth at Quentin’s onslaught, teasing Quentin’s tongue and inviting him in. Everything was hot and wet with the soft drizzle of the rainfall overhead, and Eliot’s cock throbbed in Quentin’s hand like this was just really doing it for him. Like _Quentin_ was doing it for him, like he wanted Quentin to kiss him hard and sink into him this way.

Like Quentin belonged there.

Eliot lifted his hand from Quentin’s, apparently deciding Quentin had this, and wrapped both arms around Quentin. His hands slid up Quentin’s back into his sodden hair and then down to knead his ass cheeks. Eliot’s breathing turned rapid and ragged, dazed little puffs of air between kisses as he strained up into Quentin’s fist.

“Yeah,” he answered belatedly, long after Quentin had forgotten he’d asked a question, and then Eliot just chanted, “Yes, yes, yes. _Quentin_. Oh, yes, yes.” Then everything devolved into a glottal stutter of sound and choked breaths, and Eliot threw back his head and jerked in Quentin’s grip. He came in quaking, striving pulses, spilling onto Quentin’s fingers like thicker raindrops, and his hands clenched on Quentin’s ass, gripping tight.

Quentin stared down at it happening, watching the come spill out, then up to Eliot’s face and down again. He liked having his ass squeezed like that and found the whole thing exhilarating. He kissed Eliot’s neck, sucking lightly at first and then going a little harder as Eliot had done to him, wondering if Eliot would stop him, not wanting to be marked.

But then, it was hard for Quentin to imagine Eliot being embarrassed about that kind of thing. When Eliot started to squirm from oversensitivity, Quentin released him slowly, then wrapped both arms around Eliot, still kissing his neck and shoulder. Eliot tipped his head to the side and curled his fingers around the back of Quentin’s head, encouraging him, and let out a long, lusty exhalation.

“Mm, Quentin, I knew you had it in you.” Eliot sounded _wrecked_ , unlike Quentin had ever heard him, and he rolled his shoulders and stretched his legs as if luxuriating in the afterglow.

“Not in me yet.” Quentin pressed his face into the crook of Eliot’s neck, wondering if he could do something like that. Well, surely it was _possible._ He chuckled and nuzzled Eliot’s neck again before he sat back to look at him. “Guess I really should wash up again.”

“Mm no, I like you dirty,” Eliot purred, grinning at Quentin and running his wet hands over him languidly, both of them hot and slick and hazy with coming. Eliot closed his eyes then, seeming to bask in the moment, and then manhandled Quentin to his feet and stood with him, looming over him for a moment before Eliot dipped his head to kiss Quentin again, brief and soft, sensual. “All right, I suppose we _should_ both rinse off before Margo comes in here and lectures us for taking all day.”

Eliot moved to flick on the showerheads again, all of them, and the myriad massaging jets of water struck them both from every angle, almost too much on Quentin’s spent body. It didn’t last long though, just enough to rinse them both clean, and then Eliot turned off the spray and opened the shower door.

The gust of cool air raised goosebumps on Quentin’s skin, but within moments Eliot was holding out a fluffy robe for him and smiling. “C’mon, Q. Your slutty makeover awaits.”


	4. Better Living Through Chemicals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Q's slutty makeover, Margo and Eliot take him to a rave and have their way with him. Other things happen too, but mostly that. Eliot's fucking delighted and has many emotions. Then someone unexpected turns up.

It really wasn’t fair. Quentin had been cute enough already, with those dimples and the floppy hair, the lithe, compact body. But dressed to party in Ibiza, well…

And it wasn’t like Quentin was the handsomest man Eliot had ever seen, objectively. He was nicely symmetrical, pleasingly put together, but he wasn’t precisely a patrician work of art.

Then again, those had never been Eliot’s type. At least, not after he’d sampled a few and discovered just how little he liked such men.

No, he loved his high-strung super nerds. He couldn’t resist awkward boys who had no idea how hot they were. Neurotic ones with doe eyes who stuttered when they talked to him. Boys who saw in Eliot everything he wanted them to see, but who’d understand the parts he never intended _anyone_ to see.

Really, his type boiled down to Quentin Coldwater. To Q’s sheepishness and insecurity and sheer fucking courage. No one he’d ever met better encapsulated all Eliot desired in a boyfriend.

And now, what? Quentin was going to _pretend_ to be Eliot’s boyfriend for a few days. He was going to go around dressed in tiny black leather shorts that laced up the side and front and made his ass look so biteable that Eliot was definitely going to sink his teeth into Quentin three drinks in. He wore a white vintage cotton Radiohead t-shirt cropped just below his nipples too, and some of Eliot’s couture combat boots that came to mid-calf and made Quentin’s legs look as curvy as his ass. It was, overall, an extremely successful slut makeover, even without factoring in the smudged eyeliner and stacks of beaded bracelets and long necklaces.

For once, Quentin looked like he fit in, even if he felt like he was dressed to stand out. At Encanto Oculto, slut was the new normal.

Besides, Quentin couldn’t complain because Eliot and Margo had dressed in similarly revealing outfits. Eliot was wearing a pair of flowing white linen palazzo trousers so thin as to be see through, which did nothing to conceal the extraordinarily stylish violet jock strap he wore under it. It matched his violet paisley cropped silk vest and embroidered violet silk sandals perfectly. The color brought out the green in his kohl-rimmed eyes. As for his jewelry, he was wearing oodles of it, all of it tasteful of course, but certainly subscribing to the more-is-more theory of fashion.

Margo looked like a literal goddess, because of course she did. She wore an iridescent strappy bikini top with a long white flowy vest on top of it. She had a white thong on and strappy platform sandals that wound all the way up to her hips. Her hair flowed long and curly and appeared to sparkle with hidden lights. Her make-up was a frosty white lipstick that would absolutely glow under the club blacklights. Her eyes were lined with black then rimmed with the white. Her lids were covered in the violet that Eliot wore, tying her in with Eliot.

She’d spent her time while Eliot and Quentin were experimenting with mutual handjobs styling her hair and makeup to perfection. Which was good, because that had left her free to do Eliot and Quentin’s eyeliner, which was generally Eliot’s preference because her hands were so much steadier.

She was, he reflected, better than him at everything except wielding a dick, and even then, she came very close with a strap-on and was hindered only by her lack of physical size, which really she made up for by the fact strap-ons had no refractory period and could go as long as Margo could, which, with drugs, was for-fucking-ever, and Eliot had _never_ complained about that. His ass had, just a little, but he’d told it to ovary up before Margo had to.

As they headed out the door, having already pregamed the booze a little to take the edge off Q’s nerves, Eliot dropped his arms around both his favorite people from behind and smiled. “Are you ready to rave, bitches?”

“You said there would be drugs.” Quentin was tipsy but still tugging at his cropped shirt as if it would ever reach the waistband of his low slung booty shorts. Half his ass was hanging out, but he hadn’t seemed to realize that yet since he was so fixated on his torso.

Margo swatted his hands away. “I will murder you if you stretch out my shirt, Q.”

“It’s only half a shirt.” Quentin pressed his hands over his belly as if that helped anything.

“So you want me to just maim you?” Margo wrapped her arm around Quentin’s back and nudged his hands away from his belly. “Come on, pretty boy. We’ll get you something at the rave.”

Margo rolled her eyes at Eliot. “Puppies.”

Eliot kissed the top of Margo’s head and murmured, “Play nice. We’re literally magic. We can fix your shirt if Q neurotics it out of shape.”

He kissed Quentin’s head next. “Just relax, baby boy. You blend right in.”

Then he slapped both their asses and locked the door behind them as they stepped into the sunshine.

Eliot squinted and brought up his hand to shield his eyes. “Ah, another beautiful day in paradise.”

Margo pushed Quentin toward Eliot. “There, go be his boyfriend. Would Eliot’s boyfriend worry about his midriff?”

“Right. Right.” Quentin nodded and squared his shoulders. He stepped in line with Eliot and draped his arm around him. Then he reached out for Margo. “Eliot’s boyfriend wouldn’t leave you out, Margo.”

Something strange passed over Margo’s face, almost an emotion, as if she was touched, before she steeled over and joined them. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“Eliot’s boy _friend_ wouldn’t leave you out. Eliot’s boy _toys_ on the other hand… Well, they’re easily intimidated by the intensity of our connection.” Eliot tugged on one of Margo’s curls and then relaxed into Quentin’s embrace, going so far as to snuggle back despite his anxiety about being too clingy post-coitus, which was just the _biggest_ party foul.

Then again, Quentin wasn’t really a partier and probably didn’t know the rules. He was being rather cuddly himself.

“Yeah, well, Margo and I are… friends?” Quentin turned to eye her.

“Let’s go with that.” She laughed and leaned in to kiss his forehead. It appeared to delight her to be included by him so purposefully. She rubbed Quentin’s belly lightly. “You look really good, Q. But we’ll get you some drugs, I promise.”

He nodded, and they headed toward the building where most of the major parties occurred. If not there, then there were portals to other locations.

Margo held up the Amulet of Wonder—which looked like a pair of black sunglasses—for their Regalo and handed it off to the battle mage bouncer, who took it to the High Priestess of Encanto Oculto. She put it on looking dubious, but then the power of Stevie Wonder’s _My Cherie Amour_ overtook her, and she found herself grinning and grooving.

She gave the bouncer a nod that the Regalo was accepted, and the three of them were ushered into what looked like a rave as held by pixies. There were flowers as big as trees, giant leaves on the floor. The bass was pumping, and lights were flashing like any rave, but the oversized plant life gave it a surreal life of its own.

Eliot let out a happy shout and flung his arms in the air, which was heavily air conditioned and broke out the goosebumps on his skin. He bodyrolled against Quentin, giving him a sultry sidelong stare, and then rolled up onto Margo, to whom he confided, “This outfit was a mistake. My ass is cold. Is your ass cold?”

The violet jockstrap was cute, but it did kind of leave his ass bare to the AC-driven breezes, which his diaphanous linen trousers did _nothing_ to block. Not that he didn’t enjoy a nice breeze on his ass as much as the next queer, but honestly.

Turning to Quentin, he said, “I’m cold. Put your hands on my ass. Do you think you can grope and dance simultaneously, or will that overload your nerd brain?”

Quentin raised a brow and then smirked. “Might overload my nerd brain. You want me to dance or grope?”

Margo laughed and danced up on Quentin. “He’s going to choose grope, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I just want him to say it.”

“Mm, grope, but in the middle of the party. We can make out too.” Eliot waggled his brows at them and hooked his finger through the laces at the crotch of Quentin’s shorts, tugging him along, almost literally by his dick. With his other hand, he reached for Margo and drew her along, shaking his chilly ass as he navigated them through the press of writhing bodies, most of whom were, like Eliot and Margo, wearing white under the blacklights and _glowing_.

It was fabulous. Dancing in the middle of a rave in the middle of the afternoon with his very favorite people, one of whom had just jerked him off quite surprisingly. What a time to be alive.

The center of the crowd was less cold, thankfully, but Eliot still wanted the groping. Quentin might not be ready for round two just yet, but they could get a headstart on it, right? Might as well sweep Quentin along into the sensual rhythms of Encanto Oculto. It was basically a giant fuck party, and Q needed to get with the program.

At least, Eliot would _like_ him to, if possible, if Q was comfortable with…whatever. But considering Eliot had basically brought Quentin as his _date_ , it would be really poor form to pick up randoms to screw until Q got in the mood.

And wholly unnecessary, if Q continued down the garden path of slippery shower handjobs and those deep, needy kisses that seemed to be his specialty. Eliot’s attention drifted back to that delightful interlude, and his cock stirred, threatening to test the generosity of the fabric draped over his groin. Maybe Q would appreciate it.

Margo would definitely appreciate it, if Quentin didn’t.

Quentin dutifully put his hands on Eliot’s ass, doing a pretty good job of covering his cheeks and giving some quality squeezes along the way. He’d seemed pretty comfortable touching Eliot’s ass even naked in the shower, so much so that Eliot thought Quentin might really go for it.

He’d stopped to check in with Eliot, though—such a sweet boy—and tempting as it would’ve been to see what Quentin would do next, this was a much longer game. Eliot was playing for keeps.

Honestly, he’d expected more pushback. What little Quentin offered seemed utterly idiosyncratic and not at all queerphobic.

Although making out was a little more difficult in the middle of the crowd, Quentin gamely went in for a few kisses before turning around and pressing his ass against Eliot as he swayed to the music. Somehow, he reached behind them to keep his hands on Eliot’s ass, crushing them together.

Margo covered Quentin’s front, sliding her leg between his, presumably to tease him as she ground against him. It was, Eliot thought, a very hot little trio, and he wasn’t the only one thinking so if the gazes turned their direction were anything to judge by.

Grinning, Eliot rubbed against Quentin’s ass—Quentin _had_ put it there, after all; what did he think would happen?—and leaned in to murmur in his ear. “I think I see a few of my discards around here. Definitely stay close to me, all right? I’m relying on your protection.”

He wrapped one arm around Quentin’s front, slipping it between Margo’s soft curves and Quentin’s tiny crop top, and extended the other hand to tangle in Margo’s long, loose curls. He bunched them against his palm and smiled at her over Quentin’s shoulder, captivated by her glowing violet lips for long moments. The expression on his face was probably an idiotic mixture of pure affection and aesthetic appreciation, neither of which would be wasted on her, so he didn’t mind being so obvious.

As they danced, Eliot scanned the crowd for someone selling magical ecstasy, because he had a feeling that would do Quentin’s body good. When he spotted one, he yelled to Margo, “By the neon blue 8/12 bass cab stage left, blonde’s dealing. Nab us some tabs?”

“Got it.” Margo nodded. She grabbed Quentin by the shoulders and turned him back around to face Eliot. “You’ll have to guard Q’s back while I’m gone.”

One of the chief advantages of Eliot’s height was that he could easily peer out over a crowded floor like that and send Margo where she needed to go quickly. She was intimidating enough to demand and get the good stuff. It suited Eliot very well, because he kind of preferred to just relax and let the evening happen. Margo was so much better at scaring up the chemical comestibles.

Facing Eliot now, Quentin whispered, “Thank god.”

Which was probably about the drugs. His little introverted butt was probably so overwhelmed already, but he clung to Eliot and actually did dance, which was good. Looking up at Eliot like that, when he lifted his chin, it looked like he wanted a kiss.

So Eliot obliged, lowering his head to capture Quentin’s lips. He ran his hands over Quentin’s back and down to squeeze his perfect little ass through those leather shorts as he slowly fucked Quentin’s mouth with his tongue and rocked their bodies together. With the rhythm pounding and treble trilling elation with every beat, Eliot felt high just off this, deliciously light-headed and swoony.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper crush, not like this, not with butterflies in his stomach and his skin humming with sensation at every point of contact. Quentin was just…

Well, he was irresistibly himself. In so many ways, he was Eliot’s opposite. Lacking artifice and polish and social niceties. But it was exactly why he intoxicated Eliot. He was unpredictable, and offbeat, and off-kilter, and generally a misfit in the most appealing way. Because he _was_ shy, but he was also bold, much braver than Eliot, and there was a power in him that his frankly middle-of-the-road magic didn’t begin to touch.

“Mm, Quentin,” Eliot mumbled against his lips as he pressed against him harder, too turned on to consider much except how to persuade Quentin grinding it out in public was Eliot’s best idea yet. “You feel divine.”

Quentin shifted his hips, and they couldn’t quite line up because of their difference in height, but Quentin wasn’t avoiding grinding on Eliot, which was pretty exciting. He also seemed to almost hide against Eliot’s body, as if he could keep people from looking at him. Like he wanted to just be there privately with Eliot, which was sweet, but also probably a product of his being Quentin.

Then again, he kept the kisses coming and determinedly squeezed Eliot’s ass, even if his hands moved up to Eliot’s face sometimes or his arms draped around Eliot’s neck.

Margo appeared to be having a conversation with the drug person, probably negotiating for the best shit. Maybe something extra for Quentin. She was good like that.

Well, if Margo was going to stay busy with that…

Eliot lowered his face to Quentin’s neck and resumed working on the bruise he’d left there earlier, deliberately leaving a mark. If Quentin was pretending to be Eliot’s boyfriend… Well, he certainly wouldn’t let such a gorgeous boy prance around Ibiza without _some_ evidence of prior claim.

If it also worked to Eliot’s advantage in preventing random people from macking on his crush, that was a happy side effect. It was _really_ about maintaining an illusion.

Although… Honestly, how much of this could _possibly_ be faked? Quentin might not want to come out, might not want to openly date Eliot, but he was perfectly willing to have some kind of unspecified vacation-based fling, and Eliot was going to make the most of it.

Gripping Quentin’s ass, Eliot slouched enough to grind against him properly and got a little drunk on the scent of shampoo and sweat coming off Quentin’s throat. Quentin moaned and held Eliot tightly, seeming to really enjoy the attention and affection.

Behind him another guy started to move in, seeming either not to notice or to care that Quentin was huddled against Eliot and not obviously looking for more partners. It was nervy and strange, but then Eliot recognized the guy.

Another past hookup. He beamed at Eliot and gave a nod as Quentin turned and then tensed at the stranger behind him.

Eliot couldn’t see Quentin’s expression, but Quentin’s hand went up with his fingers splayed and said, “No.” His hand formed a fist with his thumb out in a gesture telling the guy to take off, and before Eliot could even remember the guy’s name, he was kicking rocks.

Quentin resumed his attention on Eliot.

“That was sexy,” Eliot murmured, giving Quentin an appraising look as the psychedelic lights flashed over his face, painting it prismatic. “Feel free to tell all the boys off. It’s just me, my summer fling, and my best bitch tonight.”

“Am I your summer fling or your best bitch?” Quentin looked up at Eliot with the sort of sweet, innocent confusion that made him so strangely irresistible. “I guess… fling?”

Quentin looked oddly disappointed by his deduction and then gave a little resigned shrug.

Margo arrived finally with a tab on her lips. She turned Quentin around to press it into his mouth and they kissed after a brief struggle that ended when Quentin appeared to realize it was Margo and not some strange guy. She whispered something in Quentin’s ear and then backed off to smile at him as he nodded and thanked her.

Then she turned to Eliot, put another tablet on her lips, and tilted her head up to him. Eliot grinned at her, rested his hands on her tiny waist, and leaned in to lick the E from her mouth. Then he kissed her some more because she was a _fantastic_ kisser and he loved her to bits, and she always tasted like heaven. It wasn’t quite the same erotic thrill as kissing Quentin, but it was intimate and familiar in a way Quentin wasn’t yet, and Eliot gloried in it for long moments before pulling back and reaching for Quentin again.

“C’mere, boyfriend.” Eliot kissed Quentin again, one arm looped around Margo, hugging her against him as he tried to kiss away whatever disappointment and resignation Quentin felt for whatever reason.

Did he _want_ to be Eliot’s best bitch? Was he that in need of friendship? Or, maybe, neurotic as Quentin was, he was worried they were expiration dating and Eliot was going to blow him off at the end of the week.

Food for thought, certainly, but…later. Right now, Eliot just wanted to kiss and _dance_ and maybe take off his pants and twirl them in the air while jumping up and down like a pogo stick.

Of course, Margo was already affectionate and cuddly in a way that suggested she’d started her party earlier than they had. She pulled Quentin in again—Eliot made a noise of protest at sharing, just for a moment—and this time she kissed him more in earnest, stroking his hair as she shifted him between her and Eliot. The way her hands moved over him seemed to soothe him, or maybe it was the drugs.

But Quentin seemed to relax finally, not stuck so much in his head as he ran his hands over Margo in ways he’d been too reserved to do before. Margo looked over his shoulder at Eliot, leaning in and tilting her head up for a kiss from him.

With a soft sigh, Eliot wrapped his arms around both of them together, hugging them close, and kissed Margo with a growing sense of giddiness as the drug coursed through his system. He bit her bottom lip and then laughed softly, whispering, “You’re the best, Bambi,” before kissing her again.

“Got our sad little nerd king a little something extra, but I warned him.” She paused as she ran her fingers through Quentin’s hair again, seeming to enjoy it like one would enjoy petting a Persian cat. “Well, I told him after he took it, anyway. But it’s good for depressed boys.”

Quentin ran his hands down Margo’s arm. “You’re so soft. Like, really soft.”

“So are my tits, check it out.” Margo grinned at him as he moved to touch them, which made her laugh and grab his hands and press them harder against her. “Go on, silly. It’s fine.”

Eliot laughed too and kissed Quentin’s shoulder, grinding against him as he watched Q try to overcome his apparent good-boy issues and just grope Margo in public. “She’s _inviting_ you to, Q,” Eliot said reasonably, he felt. “She’s not going to hex you into Christmas if you’re _invited_. She likes being touched, and they’re _so_ nice to touch. It’s win/win, puppy. Go on and _squeeze._ Really fill your palms with them. They’re like perfect handfuls, right?”

For the most part, Eliot was secure enough in his identity that he didn’t envy Margo her magnetic figure and the way most men looked at her. For the most part. Besides, she’d never get between Quentin and Eliot. She knew how he felt. He’d told her often enough, getting weepy over bottles of good red wine and gossiping about the other physical kids. Not that he liked to remember such occasions; crushes were _not_ a good look on him, which was a large part of why he had eschewed such things for the most part.

Coldwater had just…crept in under the radar.

“They are.” Quentin’s pupils were blown, and it was so cute, as if he was touching his first boob. He looked over his shoulder at Eliot as he squeezed Margo’s breasts, his thumbs over the nipples as Margo moaned softly.

Then Margo reached for Eliot, bringing his hands up under Quentin’s shirt. “I bet you like that too, don’t you, Q? Eliot’s big hands teasing your nipples?”

“Yeah. They’re pretty sensitive.” Quentin leaned back against Eliot as he was touched, seeming to ripple under Eliot’s fingers.

_That_ was nice. Margo was a genius.

Eliot sighed against Quentin’s neck, supporting his weight and nuzzling him as Eliot played with Q’s stiff little nipples under the edge of his cropped t-shirt, alternating between exposing them to the chilly air and warming them with little pinches and rubs.

Quentin moaned, pressing Eliot’s hands against him and squirming freely at how much he enjoyed it. Who would’ve known? Apparently Margo.

So Eliot didn’t question when Margo reached for Eliot’s hands and slid them down Quentin’s abdomen or when she leaned in and started kissing and sucking Quentin’s nipple. Overwhelmed, Quentin reached up with both arms and wrapped them around Eliot’s neck, stretching as Eliot touched him, seeming not to care about the crowd of people around them.

Well if Quentin didn’t care, neither did Eliot.

Eliot tucked his fingertips beneath the waistband of Quentin’s booty shorts and gripped his hips roughly, dancing with him slow and dirty as Margo worked his front. When Quentin just flowed with it, Eliot slipped one hand lower, palming Quentin’s crotch through the leather and squeezing, pressing in with the base of his hand to give Quentin friction.

The music, the lights, the towering flowers, all of it seemed on the verge of _too much_ , but the E coursing through Eliot’s veins made everything from the texture of the air conditioning on his skin to the smoothness of the leather to the stir of Quentin’s cock beneath his hand feel _amazing_ , and as the elation overtook him, he purred in Quentin’s ear, “We could get you off right here, go curl up on the soft grass, just lie there and breathe…”

“Jesus.” That wasn’t exactly a protest, and the way that Quentin moved under Eliot’s hand seemed as eloquent a response as they were likely to get out of him. Quentin stared up at the lights for a long moment, and then his lids fluttered closed.

Margo had his shirt up to his chin, moving between his nipples, hands and then mouth, and then dragged her tongue down to Eliot’s hand, then back up to tease him more. She eyed Eliot wickedly, her movements like stop motion photography in the flashing lights, alternating her between her earthly self and then the creature of white lips in blacklight. She must have used a charm to keep the lipstick from smearing off onto Quentin’s nipples.

“Don’t worry, Q. We’ll clean it up before anyone notices. We’re not going to let you spoil leather.”

Lusty eyes gazed at them from the crowd. It probably looked like they were feasting on this poor, innocent little nerd king. How many of them wished they could be Quentin right now?

Probably at least all the ones attracted to Margo, or Eliot, which meant nearly all of them. It gave Eliot a certain smug satisfaction to know people wanted to be part of this, that people were gagging to be in Quentin’s shoes, and that he and Margo were the gatekeepers of this pleasure, choosing to bestow it only on their sweet puppy.

Encouraged, Eliot loosened the front laces of Quentin’s shorts enough he could slip his hand inside and then looped his other arm around Quentin’s chest, holding him up as his legs went weak at the touch of Eliot’s hand to his bare cock. It was a predictable moment, but so worthwhile, so _fucking_ cute, like Quentin couldn’t control himself around them.

He stroked and squeezed Quentin’s constrained erection, encouraging it up and to the left so Eliot could work it more easily and just the head peeked above his low-slung shorts. “No one cares,” Eliot reassured Quentin, kissing his throat, his ear, his jaw. “You’re my boyfriend to them. This is what it is to be my boyfriend. Just enjoy the ride.”

“I’ll stay here, Q. I know you don’t care right now, but I know you will.” Margo pressed herself against Quentin, hips back enough that Eliot could do his work.

Quentin kept one arm wrapped around Eliot and brought his other down where he gripped Margo’s breast, causing her to let out a little surprised gasp. She leaned in and met Quentin’s lips, kissing him generously, turning her head to the side. Cupping Eliot’s nape, Margo brought Eliot into the kiss.

He went eagerly, kissing Margo and Quentin at the same time, all sweet, hungry lips and the soft touch of hot tongues. The kiss morphed moment by moment, by turns arousing and soothing, affectionate and wild. Eliot relished it, fed his lust into it, his tenderness, his intense, drug-fueled craving for touch. And he stroked Quentin’s cock faster, teasing it the way he knew Quentin liked best, his hips hitching against Quentin’s body to claim whatever sensation could be had from the shifting of their bodies.

Quentin released Margo and reached back to wrap his hand around the front of Eliot’s trousers, teasing him back, though he didn’t seem able to do much beyond that. He moaned into the kisses, breaking them on occasion and seeming close to coming before he settled back into their rhythm.

Margo leaned in, now straddling Quentin’s leg, grinding, and she appeared content with that. Margo was pretty skilled in getting herself off; especially when high, she was extremely sensitive. “Yes, come on, pretty boy, you can do this.”

If Margo wanted more, she’d let them know, but she could be very self-contained, so Eliot didn’t press. He loved her enough to do whatever she needed though, and it wouldn’t be the first time. They’d done for each other enough times it was familiar and comforting, a fuller form of affection in what was already a very tactile friendship.

But his desire toward Margo was warm and sweet, a banked flame, fueled by devotion rather than lust, and what he felt with Quentin’s hand on his groin, clumsily feeling him up while Eliot jerked him… Well, it was orders of magnitude more exhilarating.

Before Q had entered the picture, Eliot had been pretty sure he’d spend his twilight years with Margo, just the two of them hitting on pool boys and living out their _Golden Girls_ fantasies while occasionally getting each other off as a matter of excellent, reciprocal stress relief. Now…

Well, when Eliot thought about the future, Margo was still a permanent feature, but he couldn’t help the nagging sense Quentin should be there with them. Eliot was clearly Blanche, Margo was Dorothy, and Q would be their oblivious, sweet, secretly filthy Rose Nylund. One who admired Margo’s breasts as they deserved to be admired.

Why was he even _thinking_ about the future with a dick in his hand in the middle of listening to Margo dirty talk Q? When had he _ever_ cared about the future this much?

Trying to shake himself out of it, Eliot reapplied his attention to the present, living in the moment as he always had. It was what he did.

He blamed the drugs, although they’d never had this effect on him before. Maybe it was the magical varietal.

Kissing Quentin’s earlobe and the hinge of his jaw, Eliot murmured, “You gonna come for us, boyfriend? We’ve got you. We’ll take such good care of you, baby Q. Just a little more, yeah? Can you feel how hard I am for you? You make my cock so hard, Quentin.”

“Want to… want to touch you,” Quentin practically sobbed, which was at least partially the drugs; they both soothed and amplified emotions. It was admittedly extremely awkward to try and jerk off someone behind you. “I’m your boyfriend.”

It was unclear who Quentin was speaking to, but Margo smiled at him and then looked up at Eliot, gaze again caught in a quick glimpse of strobing light. “I can help you. You help me?”

Margo reached behind Quentin, making short work of the fastenings of Eliot’s linen trousers, getting Quentin’s hand closer to bare skin.

Seeming to understand their bargain, Quentin reached down to Margo, sliding his finger between her and his thigh. Unlike some straight boys, he seemed to know his target, and Margo broke out into a highly pleasured grin. “Fucking yeah. Not totally useless.”

As Quentin’s fingers slipped inside Eliot’s jockstrap, which was now clinging on for dear life, Eliot groaned and jerked Quentin faster, kissing his temple and murmuring, “You can feel me now, yeah? Do I feel as good in your hand as you do in mine?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna suck it someday.”

Well that was a fucking thrilling spontaneous admission, though it also suggested Quentin wouldn’t do it here. That was all right, though. A promise of future pleasures, if Q’s excitement held, which it seemed like it very well might.

“You really are just so… _ripe._ ” Margo hovered over Quentin’s lips, gazing into his eyes with intense fascination. Her beaming gaze flicked up to Eliot as she helped Quentin better wrap his hand around Eliot’s cock, securing and reinforcing his grip in all the ways Eliot needed. “You’ve just been waiting for someone to pluck you, haven’t you?”

Quentin moved with Margo without a verbal answer, but the way that his body flexed against Eliot’s said so much. His body twisted so beautifully, his hand working Margo, surprisingly in tune.

He’d said he wasn’t a virgin, and Eliot hadn’t disbelieved him, but he was far too pretty to for women to treat so casually if he had any skill at all. Then again, he was so high-strung. Some preferred more manageable game.

Margo, for one, wouldn’t have put in the work if it hadn’t been for Eliot, and Q’s adventures had probably been with women like her: Certain of their own abilities, uninterested in Q’s baggage.

Of course, at the moment Margo was gasping through an orgasm and seemed _very_ interested in what Quentin had to offer, so she was coming around. Eliot watched her hazily, jerking Quentin’s cock and smiling at Margo as she trembled, feeling oddly disengaged but at the same time, completely content and belonging.

And thinking of belonging… Quentin seemed to crave affection. A party foul in most cases, but Eliot was intrigued with Q’s desperate fumbles toward intimacy. Even Margo seemed less annoyed with Q than the average clingy boy, but she and Quentin _did_ have actual conversations, so that was a plus.

At times Eliot had considered acquiring a boyfriend, but many of his boytoys had been… maybe not awful to Margo, but certainly not mindful of her unique role in Eliot’s life. Others had been much more into Margo than Eliot, all but neglecting him. It made finding a proper fit…difficult, if not impossible.

Then there was Quentin. Quentin seemed to cling more to Eliot, but he obviously felt a great fondness for Margo despite how much she intimidated Q. There didn’t seem to be quite as much sexual tension between them, but they shared a fundamental compatibility. She obviously appreciated his fingers.

And damn, these drugs were good shit if Eliot was philosophizing while Quentin moaned between them.

As Margo came down from her climax, she refocused on helping Quentin get Eliot off. She’d already gotten hers—more than once, probably; it was written all over her glowing face that Quentin Coldwater knew how to handle a clit, which was her favorite stimulation and one most men seemed to lack patience with.

Quentin trembled between them, his breath shuddery and moans loud, adding to the Thom Yorke dance remix _._ Sigils appeared above them, smoke beneath. They were moving a spell, their lusts a cooperative magic toward some larger end. The magic of the rave intensified their lusts, driving each touch, making them stronger, harder, more beautiful.

Though Quentin only touched Eliot with his hand, Eliot felt as if he was inside Quentin, and as if Quentin were inside him, as if Margo was somewhere in the midst of them. They’d all become one organism, sliding against one another, magically bound by this savage pleasure that exploded as Quentin released a guttural cry and came into Eliot’s hand and across Margo’s abdomen.

It stole Eliot’s breath, and he shivered and pressed closer, fucking into Margo and Quentin’s joined grip, face buried in Quentin’s sweaty hair. He murmured Quentin’s name raggedly as he stroked him through the last pulses of his climax, relishing the twitching of Quentin’s cock against his hand, the way his knuckles brushed Margo’s belly, the pounding rhythm wrapping them all in its silken cocoon. The magic and the E sizzled through him, pooling in his core, sending electric tendrils of sensation throughout his body until he was clinging to Quentin and Margo as his knees went weak.

All at once, it was too much and too good, and he kissed Quentin and Margo everywhere he could reach, wanting them both to share in this moment, to feel what he felt, and his heart swelled with unutterable, inarticulate love for them. All he wanted was their hands on him, their hearts close to his own, their lips and skin and hair, their _bodies_.

The bliss flowed through him in slow-cresting waves that built and ebbed and built again into something irresistible that dragged his conscious mind under, transformed him into strobing light and bass-heavy thumps of sound and the racing, pleading staccato of his overloaded heart. His cock throbbed, his balls tight, and then he was free-falling into a great, white nothing, hurtling into a starburst as he came apart at the seams.

Slowly he returned to himself, a bit at a time, and sensory overload diminishing until he could see again the violet gleam of Margo’s white lips over Quentin’s shoulder, could hear something other than his own pulse in his ears. Then he drew deep, overwhelmed breaths and laughed, glorying in the moment.

Margo had shifted nearer to Quentin, grinding not against his leg but directly on his hand. She’d released Eliot’s cock when he’d finished coming to clasp Quentin’s shoulders, and now she threw her head back, crying out and letting go. It was fucking magnificent. Eliot might not be sexually aroused by Margo, but damn if she wasn’t soul-stirring just the same.

One hand still twisted behind him, Quentin gently fondled Eliot’s cock, seeming unwilling to release either of them until Margo was finished. It felt as if they remained joined, like the wide-eyed orgasm Margo directed to the ceiling was from all of them. The glow emanating from her lips and the whites of her eyes mingled with the floating sigil above them. And then it was as if they were all coming again.

Eliot had nothing left to give, but that tingling elation took him over, seeming to possess Quentin, too. It was like Margo’s release belonged to all three of them, like she’d dragged them into it somehow. It felt like nothing Eliot had ever experienced before; not just his cock but _every_ part of him trembled and shook, pulling taut and leaving him teetering on the edge for what seemed like forever.

Anxiety built that he wasn’t going to get there—that he couldn’t come, that something would prevent this surreal second surge of pleasure—but then he found the peak and warmth flooded him until he didn’t know which way was up anymore.

When he opened his eyes, his gaze met Margo’s. She looked _wrecked_. Blissfully wrecked, though. She leaned against Quentin, who seemed to forget what legs were for and sagged hard against Eliot. Margo staggered in to help prop him up.

People around them stared and then parted for them as they threaded their way to the edge of the room. There they found a huge lily pad floating magically over a shallow pool of clear water. They dropped on it together in a cozy pile underneath a white waterlily glowing violet.

Someone had cast a spell to clean them, probably Margo. Or that was part of the enchantment they’d been working. Hard to say, and Eliot only vaguely cared.

As they settled in, Quentin rolled over to kiss Eliot sloppily and then rested his head on Eliot’s chest. Margo leaned over Quentin for her kiss from Eliot and then snuggled up behind Q, pressing kisses to Quentin’s sweaty nape. It was altogether lovely, and Eliot stretched luxuriantly and gazed up at the light show as the strobes streaked over the dark, distant ceiling glittering with magical constellations.

Beneath that general sense of good will and lassitudinous well-being, something more thrilling and forbidden lurked, rising up from the depths of Eliot’s slaked lusts. _Quentin wanted to suck Eliot’s cock._ He had said that, albeit in the heat of the moment, but he’d said it no less.

And now he was curled up against Eliot, clinging to him like the sweetest boy in the world, sleepy and spent and deliciously half-naked without a shred remaining of his earlier neurotic modesty.

Boyfriend material.

Eliot had suspected it, had known it for what felt like months, but this was the proof he’d craved. It was just a matter of time now. Quentin Coldwater was going to be Eliot’s beau—no faking—and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Then a pale, glowing face appeared above him, wreathed in pale, glowing hair. She smiled like an ambivalent angel. “Hi, um. Hi, guys. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Alice Quinn.

Well _fuck_. His horoscope had not prepared him for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. The Long, Slow Seduction of Alice Quinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo seizes the chance to distract Alice from Quentin and Eliot's post-climax snugglefest...and seizes a little more than that, too. If you're not here for the explicit Malice content, please feel free to skip this chapter and pick up with Quentin's POV and your regularly scheduled Queliot content next chapter. 
> 
> If you are here for the Malice content, please be gentle. It's been a long, long time since I wrote f/f, but Margo and Alice are fucking _glorious_ and we couldn't _not_ do this.

_Well, shit_.

This was not the happy hello that Margo had envisioned on seeing Alice. Part of her had doubted Alice was even going to come, but here she was, and Margo was freshly finger banged, and her bikini bottoms were shoved to the side.

It only took a second to adjust that, less time than it took for her to detangle from Quentin, mostly because Quentin was a bisexual disaster and seemed hell-bent on hysteria at Alice’s presence.

“Oh. Um. Hi, um. Hey, Alice,” Quentin said as he pulled his shirt down, not seeming to realize that his dick was still halfway out of his pants. “Didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Margo sat up and patted the spot next to her. “Hey, good to see you. Have a seat. You been here long, Alice?”

“Um, no. I just arrived this morning? I was…considering not coming, especially because my parents were already here, but then something came up and they told me I could stay in their villa alone for the week. It’s a really beautiful place, and it seemed like a shame not to…” Alice’s gaze strayed to Quentin’s spent dick flopped across his belly, having never been tucked back into those tiny leather shorts. Then she looked to Margo and raised a delicate blond brow.

Eliot seemed less troubled by the situation superficially than Quentin, but Margo clocked the way tension and possessiveness crept into his posture. At Alice’s purposeful gaze, Eliot reached over and gently guided Quentin’s junk back into containment, as if the familiarity of the touch would stake some kind of claim.

Like Alice really needed more warning off than the way Quentin’s head had been pillowed on Eliot’s chest when she first walked up. She was a fucking _genius_. Did Q really think she’d miss that?

Of course, once Quentin’s crotchal situation was resolved, Alice daintily settled on the lilypad next to Margo and got comfortable. She looked nearly as modest as was her usual in a long, filmy white gown that covered her from collarbones to ankles and down to both wrists, but in the blacklight, it glowed bright enough that Margo could make out the outline of what appeared to be a very inadequate black bikini trying to restrain Alice’s impressive bust.

As Margo tried not to stare, Eliot relaxed back against the lilypad, sprawling in an elegant heap as if silently beseeching Quentin to return to his accustomed spot.

Quentin looked to Margo as if she had somehow become the boss of him, which was, honestly probably the smartest thing he _could_ do. Sure, he could keep running his life like he’d been or let Eliot run him aground, but Margo? She could run things.

She gave Quentin’s shoulder a light shove, pushing him toward Eliot. Quentin’s eyes flashed for a moment and teased defiance, but then Eliot put his hands in Quentin’s hair, and he just melted back onto Eliot’s chest like a good boy.

Margo shifted around to face Alice. “So you’re all alone in the villa? You know you’re welcome to stay with us if it gets lonely. Or weird. It’s more likely to get weird than you get lonely, probably, but the offer is out there.”

That was… not as bad as Quentin but not as smooth as she normally was. She was going to blame the drugs. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you would be.”

“Really?” Alice sounded like she didn’t quite trust Margo or know what to make of that, but she wasn’t recoiling either, so that was something. Alice was excellent at recoiling when she didn’t like something. Good instincts, generally. Probably came from growing up in a magical family.

“Mm yeah, of course, we’re so happy to see you,” Eliot murmured, sounding sleepy and afterglowy again now that Quentin was cuddling him. He waved a hand in Alice’s direction as if backing up Margo’s invitation, though Margo suspected if Eliot stopped and thought about it, he’d feel very differently.

Also El didn’t know that Margo had arranged for Alice’s invite. So.

Probably better that El never found that out. They could have secrets. Happy little secrets.

But really, what did Eliot think? That he could seduce Quentin and they’d go back to school and Alice wouldn’t be a distraction for their fledgling relationship?

Or that Margo would just be happy spending the whole summer supporting Eliot’s nerd habit? She had a nerd habit of her own to deal with, and Alice was highly intriguing.

She was also wary, suspicious, and often two steps ahead of everyone. Margo couldn’t just dump some E in her and wait for her to get curious. This had to be _handled_.

“Yeah, of course. Need more female energy on this trip. I’m outnumbered, and they tire out too easily. Did you want to dance, or just coming in to see what everyone was up to?”

“Oh.” Alice honest-to-god blushed, and Margo was _done_. Alice tilted her head to the side, the hair tucked behind her ear falling into her face. “I wanted to dance, but I was also looking for…” She gestured at where Quentin and Eliot were dazedly stroking each other’s skin in the aftermath of particularly potent magical Ecstasy. At the moment, they were rubbing each other’s body hair the wrong way and then blowing on it.

It was kind of cute, in a braindead way.

“I don’t do well at parties sober,” Alice said more decisively, as if realizing her vagueness might suggest something other than her relatively innocent intent.

“Who does? What’s your poison? I think they… won’t miss us if we get you taken care of.” Margo started to reach out to touch her hair, but paused, not sure if they were friends like that or not. “I’m on what they’re on; I’m just better at it. Kind of. Mostly. Come on.”

Margo stood and offered her hand to Alice. She wasn’t going to worry about why Alice was there. She _was_ there, and it was go time.

Alice eyed Margo’s hand for a moment, but as Eliot full-on giggled at Quentin tickling him, she accepted Margo’s grasp and rose to her feet. Her eyes said she was overwhelmed, but her stoical expression and lifted chin suggested she was ready to tackle this place head-on.

She didn’t release Margo’s hand, either because it was comforting her or because she didn’t want to get separated or both, but Margo wasn’t going to question her good luck.

Margo looked back at her with a smile, twined their fingers for extra security, and leaned in. “So there are drugs, cocktails. Magic cocktails. Magical drugs. What do you like best?”

There was practically an orgy happening on the dancefloor, so Margo threaded them through the outskirts, getting them away from Quentin and Eliot because Alice didn’t really need to see that.

“I don’t really um. Partake. Usually.” Alice bit her lip, looking unfairly innocent, and shrugged one shoulder, ducking her head toward it. “I just want something to make all of this less…overwhelming. Something to get me out of my head. Just for a little while.”

She studied Margo, wide-eyed behind her glasses, and then ventured softly, “I trust your recommendation.”

“I got something a little extra for Q, that works getting you out of your head, but it was for depression more. I don’t know if you want the sexual side effects, but it does make dancing together feel _really_ good. Like all I really want to do right now is touch your hair, and your skin feels like silk and it’s all mmm… good. But I don’t want to give that to you if that’s not what you want. There’s always acid and um… some good magical weed.” Margo stopped and rubbed her thumb lightly over the back of Alice’s hand, enjoying the sensation.

Alice startled a little, eyes widening still more, and she looked down at where Margo was stroking her knuckles. Then she looked up at Margo again, gaze narrowing as if she was considering her options. “I’m not averse to side effects. It _is_ Encanto Oculto.”

For a moment, Alice looked almost excited, but then her expression smoothed back into the same haughty impassivity she usually portrayed. “Lead the way.”

“All right, but I’m going to warn you, my self-control is a little worn down.” Margo let her eyes sparkle at Alice, giving her a more open look of lust than she’d really allowed herself before. She headed them to the blond with the good stuff. She gave them a nod and put her arm around Alice. “My girl here needs to be treated right. She’ll have what I’m having.”

The blond beamed and rubbed their undercut. “Yeah, saw it treated you pretty good. Same price.”

Margo drew a sigil in the air that paid them, and the tab was palmed to her. Then she took Alice off to a shadowed corner that allowed them a little privacy. “Now, you’re going to feel really warm at first. Don’t fight it. Just go with it. When you’re ready, we can hit the dance floor. Let me know if you get thirsty, but the magic is supposed to help with that side effect.”

She held the tab up for Alice, allowing her the option to take it from her hand or lip it from her. Unsurprisingly, Alice plucked it from Margo’s fingers and popped it into her mouth almost daintily, every movement precise.

“Thanks,” Alice said after she swallowed. “Things look a little, um, frenetic out there. I didn’t think it would be this…intense so early in the evening.”

Her gaze moved over Margo slowly, seeming to take in her rave-going best, and then she looked away. “I’m not always good at social events, but I… I like to dance.” Her voice went a little husky as she asked, “You going to dance with me?”

“Hell yeah. You think I’m going to let strangers rub up on you? I’m gonna do that shit myself!” Margo took Alice by the hand and led her to the edge of the dance floor where it wasn’t too insane. “We can work our way toward the middle if you want to. The sex magic is more intense in there, so that’s why you see more nudity and NC-17 situations.”

The beat hit with high squeals of music Margo didn’t know she knew, remixes like echoes of childhood and adulthood. Moving with the flashing of light, Margo started to dance in front of Alice, holding her arms up. “I’m down for whatever, babe. You want me to get lost, I can do that too.”

“Babe? We’re not even friends, Margo. What game are you playing?” Alice looked so wary, so dubious, glancing around like she fully expected someone to jump out and mock her. Which… Well, it wasn’t entirely paranoia probably. Eliot and Quentin had always gotten along with Alice better than Margo had, at least on an open, superficial pleasantries kind of level, which was apparently what counted with most people.

Alice watched her dance though, gaze roaming over Margo as she moved, and it wasn’t exactly the way a purely disinterested party would look at her. There was something there. Margo had sensed it before a dozen different times but let it go because the time wasn’t right.

“We’ve gotta be some kind of friends if you just no-questions-asked took a drug I bought for you.” Margo grinned and kept dancing, moving around Alice but not touching, just doing body rolls very near her. “But if you feel like we’re not friends, we should get to know each other better, right? The boys are off doing their thing. We’re here; let’s have some fun.”

Alice rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest, which really only emphasized her glorious curves when she hunched her shoulders like that and boosted her breasts a little. Then, with seeming reluctance, she stepped into Margo’s space and bumped their hips together in a cute little nerd opening gambit.

“Come on. You said you like to dance. Dance with me. We’re young, we’re hot, we’re magical, we’re about to both be really fucking high.” She put her arm around Alice’s shoulders and bumped their hips together again as she gestured to the dancefloor. “Besides, you wanna dance with any of those people? I mean, sure a couple of them are kinda cute. But as cute as me?”

Margo stopped and put on a jokey pose. “Come on, Alice. Play with me. Please?”

Alice clucked her tongue as if acknowledging the inevitable success of Margo’s argument, mumbled a terse, “Fine,” and then began to sway to the rhythm of the bass and strobing lights, hands waving by her head like she was channeling her inner goth. She fucking glowed under the blacklight, so pale it transformed her into soft lavender as she twisted and turned, never quite meeting Margo’s gaze as she did her own thing. She was, as ever, so self-contained it was painful, but she was smiling now as she let go a little, occasionally glancing around like she was afraid of being watched.

Margo danced around Alice, providing a buffer for her, looking over her shoulder at her sometimes to check in, make sure she was still having fun. Also staking out her area to anyone who would be foolish enough to try to poach Margo’s claim.

She turned around again and started to mimic Alice’s moves and incorporate them into her own as she moved down, dropping low where she could smirk up into Alice’s gaze before she shimmied back up, lifting her arm to put her hand on Alice’s and using it to spin under.

That provoked a little giddy laugh, and Alice held up her hand higher, giving Margo room to twirl, and the giddiness surged through Alice as she bounced up and down and shook out her hair with a happy noise. She swayed closer to Margo, brushing against her, and then away again, glancing at Margo with a look that suggested she was starting to understand the game. She’d always been the smartest in her year.

Margo beamed at her, a genuine smile, not her usual smirks or shit-eating grins but showing she was genuinely having fun with Alice. She really was beautiful and fiercely intelligent. And also, Margo suspected, a big fan of fun as long as she felt she was in a safe place to have it.

Now that they were touching, Margo worked to keep Alice’s hand and arm engaged, wrapping it around herself as she spun in against Alice and then spun back out. She traced her fingers up Alice’s arm, gently caressing through the gauzy fabric, knowing how good it would feel as the drugs hit.

Then she moved back, holding Alice’s hand, and lifted it to let her spin under her arm, then brought her arm down in front of Alice, pressing Alice’s back to Margo’s front to sway for a few beats before releasing her again to see how she’d react.

Giggling in apparent embarrassment, Alice whispered, “I think the drugs are working,” and then curled a strand of Margo’s hair around her finger and tugged before releasing her. Smiling just a little, she spun around and then pressed her back to Margo’s chest again and then reached for Margo’s hands to wrap them around her waist. They swayed together like that, Alice’s heart beating so hard and fast Margo could feel it, and then Alice spun out and back in, this time with her side to Margo’s front as she leaned backward over Margo’s arm, laughing again and shaking her head until her fine blond hair flew around in a glowing violet halo.

“Let them work; it’s Encanto.” Margo leaned down, sweeping Alice into a deep bend dramatically, her face close to Alice’s. She pressed a kiss to the tip of her adorable nose and then brought her up, bringing Alice to face her as she pressed her hands against her hips, swaying with Alice, enjoying the warmth where their bodies touched. “We’re just going to have fun.”

Margo turned around, putting her back against Alice and pulling her arms around her. She turned her head to the side and nudged Alice’s face in the direction of the people staring at him. “They wish they were having so much fun. They all wish they could dance with you.”

As she felt Alice grow nervous, Margo held her middle finger up at the people watching them. “Take your fucking male gaze elsewhere, assholes. This is our time. For us.”

“Yeah, fuck off!” Alice called out in a tizzy of excitement. Then she buried her face in Margo’s neck and hugged her as they swayed. Her breath came in short, hot bursts against Margo’s skin, like Alice was freaking out internally.

Margo turned around in her arms and held her tight, smoothing her hair, rocking her gently, just enjoying the feel of them together. She breathed slowly, trying to calm Alice a bit. “You all right? Need some air? Tell me what you need.”

As she’d thought, Alice’s hair felt like heaven. So soft and silky, kind of the perfect texture for the moment. Like the hair of an angel. Margo just kept Alice close, not trying to sex it up, just wanting to comfort her.

“I’m um.” Alice shivered and took a moment to wrap her arms around Margo again, but then she embraced her tightly, like she had to decide to let herself accept the affection but then she was all in. “I’m okay. I’m just…”

Alice rubbed her face against Margo’s hair and sighed. “That feels so nice.” After a beat, the distraction passed, and Alice said, “I just hate when men act like they have the right to look at me. Like I exist for them and not myself. It just…”

Righteous fury spilled from Alice as she tightened her grip on Margo and exhaled roughly. “I want to dance, but I don’t… I don’t like being put on display. I don’t know why I came here.”

“You came here to dance, and we’re gonna dance. You came here for you. So _you_ can have some fun. And maybe me. I was hoping you would come.” Margo squeezed Alice tightly, feeling the anxiety practically reverberating through her. “Listen, we’re magicians. We can put up a charm where no one can see us if you want. You especially, Miss Light Bender.”

Margo released her enough to look at her and smooth her hair back. “You deserve this space and deserve to have fun.”

Alice brightened visibly, searching Margo’s eyes, and then smiled a little. “I _could_ make us impossible to see. Are you sure you want to stay with me? You’re usually so…”

Gesturing awkwardly, Alice finished, “sociable.”

“Sociable. Okay, I’ll take that.” Margo laughed, put her arms around Alice’s neck, and pressed their foreheads together. “I have a lot of obligations at school and, you know,” Margo sighed and shrugged; might as well be honest. “A lot of first years wash out. I try not to get too attached. I didn’t think you would wash out but… you and Q seemed very… but if he’s not going to dance with you, I’m going to swoop in. That okay with you?”

Alice’s expression went pinched at the mention of Quentin. “I thought…but he and Eliot looked very…cozy.” Her pretty mouth turned down at the corners, but then she seemed to shrug it off. “But if you want to swoop, then swoop.”

Eyes sparkling, Alice pulled away and then began working the light. Her graceful, pale little hands glowed under the blacklight and sparked with magic as she flowed through a complex series of tuts. As she worked, the strobing lights bent around them, still flashing with the beat, until they formed a solid sphere around them.

Then, in the scintillating isolation, Alice pulled off her long, flowing white dress, letting it drop to the floor, and she began to dance in nothing but that tiny black bikini Margo had sussed out earlier. She extended her hands toward Margo, a shy half-smile playing over her elfin features.

“I like how you party, Miss Quinn.” Margo shrugged off her vest, putting her also in her bikini. Not that she was shy about anything before, but if it was time to strip down a little, then it was time to strip down. “I know I can’t be the first person to say this, but you really are gorgeous. And I like that, but you know what I like more?”

Margo grinned at Alice’s slightly wary expression. “That you can do shit like this. You’ve got the sexiest brain, lady. You are so fierce. I love it.”

Wrapping her arm around Alice’s waist, she pulled her in and started to sway again. This time their bodies slid together without worry it was for anyone but them. Margo moved more aggressively, matching the heavy beat of the music as they worked back up to their earlier frenzy. Alice seemed to have enjoyed that, and Margo wanted her to have all the fun.

Margo body rolled, dancing up on Alice a bit more sexually than she had been but careful to give Alice room. At least now, isolated from the rest of the room, Alice would know this was about her and not Margo trying to show off to anyone.

Not that Margo would, but Alice didn’t seem to know that yet.

She brushed against Alice, sliding their breasts together, moving her ass against Alice’s thigh as she turned. She trailed her hand lightly along Alice’s shoulder, dragged a finger along her hip, flashing her looks, checking in that Alice enjoyed the attention.

And it was obvious that she did, that she was basking in Margo’s touches and looks. A bright flush suffused her cheeks, but she didn’t slow down, dancing wildly and staying close to Margo as she bounced around and pumped her arms in time to the rhythm. It was nowhere near as graceful as her spellcasting, lacking the dignity of her usual prim carriage. This was just Alice going for it, letting herself be real with Margo.

With a soft sound of triumph, Alice bumped against Margo’s ass and then trailed her fingertips down Margo’s arms to take her hands and tug them back and forth as she twisted and tiptoed. There was nothing overtly sexy about it, nothing seductive—it was almost how a little girl might dance—but it was _so fucking cute_.

As she bopped in closer to Margo, she leaned in and brushed a swift, nervous kiss across Margo’s cheek and then darted backward again to the farthest extent of their reach, not releasing Margo’s hands. “My skin feels like glitter,” she confided with a giggle.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Margo pulled Alice in close again, bringing her hands up to stroke the side of Alice’s face, then down her jawline to her chin. As Alice lifted her chin, Margo traced down her throat and then up the side of her long, graceful neck. It was more sensual than sexual, Alice appeared to be enjoying it.

Then Margo leaned in, not quite kissing the crook of her neck, just breathing softly across that very sensitive area. Nuzzling lightly, she moved out to kiss her shoulder. Then, turning around, Margo tossed her head back and dusted down Alice’s front with her soft, curly hair, just sweeping it over her, letting it go where it wanted as she dropped down into a squat. Then she shimmied back up, sweeping her hair over Alice’s skin again.

Alice’s little gasps excited Margo, spurring her on as Alice skimmed her hands over Margo’s bikini-clad body. Her touch was tentative, wondering, like she couldn’t believe she was doing this, but that just made it better. A tremor ran through Alice, and she pressed in closer to Margo before tangling her fingers in Margo’s hair and pulling her in close.

“Let’s dance dirty,” Alice whispered, eyes gleaming, mouth a shy little smile.

“Now you’re really speaking my language.” Margo shimmied against Alice. “Touch where you want, I’m not going to get mad or be scandalized. I want you to. I’m going to play with your hair a little. It’s so silky and soft. It feels nice.”

She slid her fingers through Alice’s hair, bringing it up and then letting it cascade through her fingers. That always felt good.

Margo leaned in, sliding her leg between Alice’s, letting her do what she wanted. She nuzzled her face, teasing their lips together, tasting a hint of vanilla in her gloss, breathing in the mint of her breath. “Kissing is really nice on this. You want to kiss me, Alice?”

“I—” Alice’s breath was coming faster now, like she couldn’t quite catch it, and she shivered as she shifted against Margo’s thigh. Her gaze met Margo’s and held for a moment before Alice glanced away, looking overwhelmed. But she didn’t pull away, and after a minute, she darted a little kiss to Margo’s lips.

Margo was patient, letting Alice set the pace, and fucked if she didn’t nuzzle in again and deepen the kiss. It was so sweet, so hesitant, just an open-mouthed caress, and then Alice’s hands slid up Margo’s bare back, tangling in the ends of her long hair, and Alice pressed closer, her breasts crushing against Margo’s, her thighs tightening and flexing on either side of Margo’s as Alice rubbed against her to the beat.

“That feels so good,” Alice whispered, voice pinched, like she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to feel that good.

“It really does, doesn’t it?” Margo tilted her head and took Alice’s mouth deeper, keeping it sweet and wet and warm, dragging her thumbnail lightly over Alice’s bottom lip. She curled her fingers under Alice’s chin, loving the feel of her tongue, her soft, beautiful lips.

Alice was hesitant until Margo moaned tenderly and brought her arms up around Alice’s neck, feeding into her Margo’s passion and excitement at their kissing. Theirs, personally, because Margo was maybe someone Alice didn’t think she should or would kiss.

Yet, they felt so perfect together. The press of Alice’s firm, curvaceous body in that tiny suit, all that delicate, beautiful skin Margo couldn’t get enough of.

Dropping her hands to Alice’s back, Margo dragged her nails over Alice’s skin, knowing it had to feel incredible. “You like that, huh? Like kissing me?”

“Don’t get smug. It’s not a good look.” Alice sounded sulky, but she arched like a housecat into the scratch of Margo’s nails, writhing closer, and then kissed her again, more demanding this time, like now she knew what she wanted. Or maybe like she’d _accepted_ what she wanted.

And that was always the biggest hurdle, getting someone self-contained to acknowledge what they wanted. But a woman like Alice… Once she locked onto a goal, she always achieved it. Margo loved that about her.

And now, Margo was the goal. The idea of Alice pursuing _her_ sent a shiver down her spine.

As they kissed, Alice’s hands roamed Margo’s body, over the innocent spaces of her back and shoulders, lower to the less innocuous curves of her ass, and then, smoothly, boldly, Alice’s hand glided up Margo’s belly to curve over one breast and squeeze.

Alice made a low, gutted sound at that, amplifying the sensation coursing through Margo at Alice’s touch, and their kiss turned filthy suddenly, all open mouths and striving tongues. Then, surprising Margo, Alice slipped Margo’s breast free of the bikini’s cup and pinched Margo’s nipple between the flat sides of two dainty fingers as her palm flexed against the undercurve.

Margo released a startled and excited gasp and let her head fall back, just reveling in the touch and letting Alice know how much she enjoyed it. Bringing her shoulder in, Margo moved the strap of her bikini off her, leaving that breast exposed for Alice. She dragged her nails up Alice’s back and over her shoulders and pressed her palms against Alice’s breasts.

She kneaded them lightly while they kissed, teasing nails on skin then over fabric and back again. Margo kissed down Alice’s neck down to her tits, dragging her hair lightly over her skin. Leaning down, she kissed Alice’s breast through her bikini top, giving a flash of teeth against the black fabric while her hands moved slowly down Alice’s abdomen.

The _sounds_ Alice made just about undid Margo. She made these hot little breathy noises as Margo mouthed her and ground against Margo’s thigh, seeming to grow beyond her ability to hold back. As Margo nipped at Alice’s nipple through the cloth, Alice kneaded Margo’s breast in her hand like she was working through her anxiety and then whispered, “That feels…”

She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t need to. Margo knew it felt amazing. It would’ve felt amazing _without_ the magical Ecstasy, but with it… Here at Encanto with the sex magic inlaid into the very building? With the air thrumming with power and tension and bass-heavy rave music? Even isolated in this strobing sphere of Alice’s light-bending magic, those factors were very much in play, and Alice squirmed like it was all too much and not enough.

“I haven’t,” Alice blurted. “With a woman.” Like that was going to stop Margo.

Margo kissed back up to her lips, taking them sensually as Margo pressed her thigh harder between Alice’s legs, letting her grind. “But you’ve been so curious though, haven’t you? Not sure if it was academic or real lust? Just up there in that brain of yours. Not sure whether to act. But I saw you. I see where your gaze lingers, Alice. Now’s the time to find out.”

Reaching behind her, Margo undid her bikini top, let it drop to the floor, and then brought Alice’s hands up to touch her bare skin. Then Margo ran her hands up through her own hair and started a sultry dance in front of Alice, basking in the moment. “I’ve always wondered what you taste like. You want to be tasted, Alice?”

“Oh shit,” Alice muttered under her breath, trembling against Margo, her hips jerking forward on their own to grind her mound against Margo’s thigh. She looked dazed, like she hadn’t anticipated things going so quickly, but then her gaze zeroed in on Margo’s naked breasts, and her expression turned yearning. The naked longing on her face stirred something protective in Margo with the realization Alice really had been curious, that Margo was completely right.

Not that that was anything new. Margo was always right.

Then Alice’s gaze locked on Margo’s, and she reached back to unfasten her own top. As it dropped, her breasts bounced free, looking huge on her tiny frame, so pale they gleamed under the blacklight. Her little pink nipples were hard in the chilly air, pointing right at Margo, so inviting, and Alice bit her own lip as she watched Margo watch her.

Smiling a little, seeming reassured by Margo’s obvious desire, Alice reached out to cup Margo’s face in her hands and leaned in to kiss her again. Their bare breasts pressed together, and Alice’s breaths puffed shakily against Margo’s mouth like she was just as turned on as Margo was. Then Alice’s hands strayed lower, gliding down Margo’s sides, nails sending up blunt, sparkling trails of sensation that shimmered bright in a drug-induced flurry of bliss. Everywhere they touched felt more alive, more real, than should even be possible.

Then Alice tucked her fingertips beneath the waistband of Margo’s bottoms, nails digging into the cheeks of Margo’s ass, and Alice crushed forward more insistently, dancing with Margo again in a filthy bump and grind as they kissed.

“Go on if you’re curious.” Margo slid her hands back to Alice’s ass, gripping her to help her grind harder on Margo’s thigh, feeling her growing slick through her tiny bikini bottoms.

Reaching between them, Margo slid the fabric of Alice’s bottoms to one side and carefully spread her labia open against Margo’s leg so Alice could get full advantage of the grind. Then she returned her hands to Alice’s ass, setting a pace to the beat of the music, keeping pressure even as she leaned in and kissed Alice again.

As breathy and noisy as Alice already was, Margo was pretty sure she could get her to come like this first, let her see what could be done even before Margo really got to work.

Once Alice seemed caught up in the rhythm enough to grind shamelessly on her own, Margo twisted her hand in Alice’s hair and kissed Alice’s throat, grazing her teeth where she felt Alice’s pulse racing. Alice cried out, low and startled, like she didn’t know she could feel like this, and clung to Margo for a few moments, exploration halted as she writhed under Margo’s mouth and against her thigh.

“Fuck,” Alice whispered, raspy-voiced and exhilarated, and then she slid her hands downward, pushing Margo’s bikini bottoms down past her ass as Alice curved her hands over Margo’s cheeks and squeezed. As they gripped each other tight, Alice rutted against Margo’s flexing thigh, her breasts pressing hard against Margo’s, the two of them wrapped up in an intoxicating blend of soft and firm and sweat-slick skin and silky hair.

“Margo,” Alice gasped, sounding so startled, so turned on, and then she clamped her legs around Margo’s and let out tiny, hiccupping breaths as she shook apart, clinging and making this little _uh uh uh_ sound that drove Margo insane. Alice’s slick juices drenched Margo’s leg as Alice threw back her head and squirmed helplessly, like she was totally losing control of herself for the first time in ever.

“Fuck yeah. That’s my girl.” Margo kept moving against her, clasping one of Alice’s breasts in her hand, thumbing her nipple, stealing Alice’s breath as she exhaled. She knew there was always that sensitive time between orgasms, where she felt loose and happy but still aroused, wanting more.

Alice released the intense grip on Margo’s leg and Margo slipped her hand between them, casting a quick spell to remove her long nails. They were pretty and all but not practical. Using the blunt of her palm, Margo kept pressure up on Alice’s clit but slid her fingers over her slick opening, teasing her until she all but pushed Margo’s fingers into her.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy, Alice. I want you to ride my face. You think that was good, you just fucking wait.” Margo gave Alice a moment to open her eyes and register that before Margo went down on her knees.

She pulled Alice’s leg over her shoulder, ready to get on it before the afterglow of the previous orgasm wore off. After a wink, Margo lost herself in Alice’s cunt, working her with her fingers, flicking her tongue. She parted her labia and sucked Alice’s clit, roughing it up a bit with her teeth to test her sensitivity. Curling her fingers in, Margo pressed and teased until she felt Alice all but lose her balance and then rubbed into her mercilessly.

It was thrilling. Alice seemed so surprised; she had probably never had her pussy eaten properly. Given the kind of guys she gravitated to—her best friends at Brakebills seemed to be Quentin and Eliot—that was probably painfully true. Although Margo had first-hand experience Quentin was good with his fingers, she also knew Quentin and Alice had never gotten that far together, and Q would never be so bold as to dive face-first into Alice’s cunt at a rave. And pretty ladies, like fortune, favored the bold.

Alice was gasping again, that broken little _uh uh uh_ that fired Margo up, and she gathered Margo’s hair in her hand, holding it out of the way and pulling it just a little, steering Margo’s head just a little as Margo lapped at her clit relentlessly, pressuring it with the flat of her tongue and then twirling over and around it, going after it aggressively as Alice fucked against her face. Alice’s legs trembled, her knees weak, and she wobbled a little as she tried to buck onto Margo’s fingers, seeming to lose herself in the sensation.

Within moments, she was coming again, her cunt clenching and rippling around Margo’s fingers as her sweet juices flowed down over Margo’s hand. Alice pressed her mound hard against Margo’s mouth, the salty, vital scent of her filling every breath, undercut by Alice’s innocent floral perfume. Spasming and shaking, Alice strained closer still, in the grip of an orgasm that just wouldn’t quit, and Margo worked her through it, going gentler as Alice arched away a little, chasing after her with careful pressure that was just this side of too much.

Then, seeming exhausted, Alice pulled Margo away by the hair and stepped down from her perch on Margo’s shoulder, staggering back and sinking to the floor. She looked hazy-eyed and overwhelmed, eyelids barely open, mascaraed lashes fluttering over flushed cheekbones. Then, sweeter than sugar, Alice shifted against Margo, reaching for her with both hands, lips parted as she went in for a kiss.

Margo crawled up her body and kissed her tenderly, bringing her down from her heady heights, giving her enough to enjoy the kiss and the sensation of connection without revving her up too much. She seemed pretty spent.

_I just fucking wrecked Alice Quinn_ , Margo thought smugly to herself as she pulled Alice close and smoothed her hair back. “You wanna go back to the lily pad to rest, pretty lady?”

“Oh.” That thought seemed to sober Alice, as if she’d just realized she’d have to face Q and El again. “No. I think I’ll…go back to the villa.” She bit her lip and eyed Margo speculatively before offering a tiny smile. “You can come over sometime, though. It’s peaceful, and if you’re interested in magical architecture, it’s pretty intriguing, and it’s just me there. Just, if you get tired of all the male energy in your space.”

Alice cast around for her clothes, both self-possessed and awkward, like she was unaccustomed to the aftermath of orgasms with another person but determined to be dignified about it.

“I could bring my strap-on and really fuck you if you’d like. I mean, architecture’s nice, but I love watching you come.” Margo helped Alice with her clothes, stealing light touches and nuzzling her for more kisses. “But if you’d rather talk, we can do that, too. I’d like you to come out with us, too. You know, dinner, conversation, hanging out.”

Margo licked her lips, still tasting Alice. She leaned in to kiss her, sharing that taste as she swirled her fingers over her nape. “More dancing.”

“Um.” Alice actually squeaked for a moment, seeming totally overwhelmed, and cleared her throat as she averted her gaze. “That’s…a very nice offer. You’re just…a little intense. I’m um.” Alice blinked rapidly, seeming to search for words, and then turned her gaze back on Margo’s as her brow furrowed. “You never seemed especially interested in me before. I don’t know where this is coming from.”

Alice sounded so tortured, like after all this, she still expected the other stiletto to drop. But her hand came up to Margo’s neck, as if she couldn’t help herself, and she sighed. “I’d like to do this again, just us, but I…” Shaking her head, she seemed at a loss. “I have to know you’re acting in good faith.”

Then Alice stood, quickly adjusting her tits so they weren’t quadboobing out of her tiny top. With a glance at Margo, she said, “You should get dressed before I release this spell. I um… I should go.”

“Hey.” Margo got up, holding her bikini top but not putting it on. “I talked to you. I shared things. Come on. What in the world could I want besides getting to know you better? Ibiza is beautiful. Thinking about you alone in that villa hurts my heart. You wanna go out just me and you, we can do that. Don’t…”

She sighed as she caressed the side of Alice’s face. “I don’t really have an angle aside from maybe a badass girl gang of two striking fear in the heart of the patriarchy. I feel like you’d like that, too. We’re more alike than you think, probably. I just wanna see where it goes.”

At that, Alice relaxed, just a little, and rubbed her face against Margo’s hand as she gazed at her. “Margo, but you glory in being the biggest bitch at Brakebills. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m waiting for you to stab me in the back.”

Alice smiled though, like she didn’t really mind, like it was reflexive self-protection. Then, quietly, she reached up and thumbed Margo’s nipple, toying with it just a little before she leaned in and kissed Margo. Her lips’ fleeting touch only stoked Margo’s want for more, but then Alice pulled away and shrugged. “Breakfast tomorrow. Just us. Quentin and Eliot always expect our lives to orbit around theirs. Let’s do our own thing. Girls only.”

She didn’t _say_ to bring the strap-on, but she didn’t say _not_ to, either.

“Bitches get lonely sometimes.” Margo grinned. She was totally bringing the strap-on. She pulled her bikini top back on and tied it back up, found her vest, and adjusted her bikini bottoms. “Girls only.”

Alice nodded with a touch of her usual hauteur, though her lips were kiss-swollen, her hair was a wreck, and she was flushed all the way to her waist. “Girls only.” Then she released the sphere of light and disappeared into the suddenly appearing crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed our thirsty souls and ensure the new chapters arrive in a timely fashion. Please contribute to the needy author comment fund below. Also, if you have any particular requests about future Malice content, let us know! We're new to this pairing, but it's going to be a subplot for the rest of this story.


	6. King of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin and Eliot sneak off from the rave to get some fresh air and end up on a party boat out at sea drinking prosecco as the sun goes down. (With sexy results.)

Quentin sat on the edge of the sunset catamaran, enjoying the ocean breeze and the fading of the light. Next to him was a plate of tapas, and he held a flute of prosecco he only vaguely remembered getting. He was staring at the ghostly seeming round glow of the sun behind clouds when he suddenly remembered that he thought he saw Alice at the rave.

He’d been rolling for hours, feeling detached but happy. He’d cuddled Eliot, and then they’d gone for a walk, holding hands. Then they were dancing again… somewhere… and then there was a boat. The boat had sounded like a really good idea, especially with its tapas buffet and open bar. If he hadn’t been high, he probably would’ve worried he’d get seasick, but here he was, fine.

Drinking prosecco.

Thinking about coming on the dancefloor and then hallucinating Alice.

Quentin chuckled and leaned against Eliot’s shoulder. “That really was good shit Margo got. Where is she?”

Eliot nestled his head against Quentin’s and sighed in contentment as he smoked another cigarette down to nothing. “Um, I dunno. She disappeared with Alice. I assume they’re banging, but I’ve been wrong before. Margo and I aren’t actually psychically connected, contrary to popular belief.”

“Wait, Alice is here? That… I thought…” Quentin turned, feeling a sudden sense of doom and despair. “Oh _shit_.”

So she’d been there, and she’d been real, and he had been so…

Quentin remembered Eliot tucking his dick away and winced. Not that he and Alice were dating, but they weren’t _not_ dating, and he was definitely going to make a move someday. Probably. “Wait. Margo and Alice are banging?”

That was…not… He must’ve heard that wrong. That didn’t make any kind of sense. For one, he didn’t think Alice liked her at all, and Margo seemed… Well she seemed like she’d probably hit it but she’d never expressed actual interest. Plus, he was pretty sure Margo had been with them the whole time.

“Is that a joke?”

“Oh, Q.” Eliot sounded sympathetic, but in that slightly put-on way he sometimes had when he deemed a worry beneath him. “Margo and I share a passion for repressed, overthinking turbo nerds who can’t see what’s right in front of them. She also shares my passion for same-sex fuckery, though she indulges slightly less often as men are infinitely easier to manage, in general.”

By “manage,” Eliot probably meant manipulate.

“I just... fingered her.” Quentin wasn’t even sure what that was relevant to other than that he was a little unnerved at spending the afternoon hallucinating Margo and apparently _not_ hallucinating Alice. Then he stopped and looked at his hand. “I fingered Margo Hanson.”

He looked at Eliot, wondering if he realized that, too. But he had to. He was right there. Or had he been. “Or did I? How long has Margo been gone?”

“Oh, no, baby boy, you _definitely_ fingered Margo Hanson, and she enjoyed the shit out of it.” Eliot beamed at Quentin like he was a charming dork, and then leaned in to nuzzle Quentin affectionately. His lips brushed Quentin’s earlobe. “Got me off too, in some kind of almost simultaneous orgasmic wizardry. You must be so proud.”

Then Eliot pulled away, puffed on his cigarette, and gazed toward the sunset. “I guess Margo left us two hours ago. She and Alice went to find Alice some Ecstasy, and then they were going to dance. At least, I think that was the plan. Your mouth was like _right_ by my nipple, and it was _extremely_ distracting. Anyway,” Eliot continued, brandishing the stub of his cigarette, “dance is usually code for bang when you’re high and you’re Margo, so.”

“I got you off?” That was good to know. “Oh wait, right, I do that now.”

Quentin rubbed his forehead as he tried to piece things together. Right, hand job. On the dancefloor. “So Alice came to see Margo? I didn’t think Alice liked things like this.”

Eliot shrugged and bumped his shoulder into Quentin’s as he discarded the butt. “That’s unclear. Alice came for inscrutable, Alice Quinnish reasons we will never understand. She wanted to dance, apparently. Her family are well-known magicians, so it’s no surprise she wrangled an invite. It is, I suppose, a little surprising she actually turned up.”

“You don’t think she came to see me, do you?” Quentin winced, feeling bad for the weird reception, but he _had_ come to Encanto with Eliot. He couldn’t even remember now if he’d mentioned to her that he was coming. “I guess it doesn’t really matter if she’s getting banged by Margo. I mean, we’re not dating, so… I don’t know why I feel guilty.”

Damn, he said that out loud. He sipped his prosecco and gave a little shrug and exhaled. He leaned against Eliot, resting his head on his shoulder.

“You feel guilty for…what? Fingerbanging Margo Hanson? Fully seventy percent of Brakebills aspires to such heights.” Eliot looped his arm around Quentin and hugged him, though, as if he understood it was difficult for him. “Alice likes you. You like her. Is she what you want, Quentin? Are you…more jealous of Margo or of Alice? Because I can’t figure you out.”

Quentin shrugged. “I dunno. I feel bad if she came here to see me and I didn’t even really say hello. We were flirting for a while. You know… before my birthday. And I guess I just never really… talked to her about… I guess it wasn’t exactly a secret. It was right there in the common room.”

“Mm.” Eliot sounded so casual about it, like it was no big deal, but then he kissed Quentin’s hair. “I promise I’m not trying to ruin your life, Q. Just…complicate it a bit. Make it more exciting. That’s what I do. Make things complicated and exciting.”

He sighed then and added quietly, “Besides, Q, you flirt with everyone. It’s like you can’t help it.”

“What? Me? I do not.” Quentin’s cheeks heated as he wrapped an arm around Eliot’s waist. “Honestly, she may not have even known I was trying to flirt. I’m terrible at it. I mean, you noticed I was flirting with you, so I guess I’m not totally hopeless.”

“No, you’re totally hopeless.” Eliot grinned then, tightening his grip around Quentin’s shoulders and looking out at the waves. “You just confessed you intended to flirt with me. I thought it was a total accident, honestly, Q. I thought it was just your brutally repressed inner thot escaping for brief moments here and there, trying desperately to make contact with the sexual alpha of the Physical Kids.”

He laughed and dropped his arm from Quentin’s shoulders to loop around his waist, one big hand gripping his hip. “But you were flirting with me.”

“I was! Don’t you remember that time I was like… _hey_. And you said _hey,_ and then we had some wine.” Sure, it was subtle, but Quentin thought Eliot must’ve gotten the message if he’d decided to suck Quentin’s dick. Though why that had happened _then_ was beyond him.

Quentin pushed his hair back from his face. “Anyway, you say I flirt with everyone, so you must not have thought it was a big deal. And we’re here. On a boat. I’m _on a boat!_ ”

He turned his head and looked up and over at the bow, biting his lip as his gaze returned to Eliot’s. Quentin lifted his brows, thinking dreamily of _Titanic._

“You are, in fact, on a boat,” Eliot agreed, smiling a little, just a quirk of his lips. “Is this part of some boyhood fantasy you haven’t yet disclosed? Are we having a moment I don’t know about?” He tugged at a piece of Quentin’s hair, studying him with a gentle gaze. “We can do anything you want to do, Q.”

“I guess I should do it before the sun is totally down.” Quentin finished his prosecco and ate the last of the tapas before hopping up, heading for the front of the catamaran. He moved to the transom, securing his arm around the forestay as he leaned forward, hoping for the illusion of flying like in the movie but really, he mostly just saw more boat. They honestly weren’t going very fast.

Quentin frowned and looked at Eliot. “I think I’m doing it wrong?”

Eliot laughed and trailed behind him, watching curiously. “Are you trying to be the king of the world, Q? Because this is hardly a luxury liner. If you want a _Titanic_ experience, minus the sad but inevitable death of most onboard, you should come on a cruise with me.”

Before Quentin could even respond to being invited on a second vacation, Eliot soldiered up to Quentin, the sea breeze whipping his transparent white trousers around his long legs, and planted himself against the railing, one arm hooked around the forestay. “All right, Coldwater. Climb me like a tree. It’ll be ever so much more satisfying from a better vantage point. Up you go.”

“What, really?” Quentin wasn’t sure if that was for the vacation invitation or climbing him. Either way, he was in. He braced himself against the forestay to use it as a leg up and climbed up on Eliot’s shoulders for the second time on their vacation. It was definitely a better vantage point.

The wind whipped through his hair, blowing it back as Quentin lifted his arms up, balling his fists. “I’m king of the world!”

But really, it wasn’t the boat that made him feel that way. He hunched over and kissed the top of Eliot’s head and smiled upside-down at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Eliot smiled back and tipped up his face, gazing at Quentin. “You enjoying yourself up there? I don’t let just anyone treat me like a glorified umpire chair.”

“I’m flirting.” Quentin bit his lip as he looked down at Eliot. Or up at him. He wasn’t sure. He slipped off Eliot’s shoulders and lowered himself back down to stand next to Eliot. “See? Flirting. Hey.”

Before Eliot could respond, Quentin stood on his toes and kissed him, wrapping his arms around him, loving the way the wind buffeted them as the sun vanished beneath the horizon. It was, at least for Quentin, kind of romantic.

“Mm,” Eliot murmured into Quentin’s kiss, seeming delighted. He embraced Quentin in return, hands roaming over Quentin’s scarcely clad body, and then Eliot was kissing his jaw, his throat, his shoulder. “You’re really leaning into this whole boyfriend routine. Daddy likey.”

“Well, it’s been a good day. I’ve done drugs. Orgasmed on a dance floor. Fingered Margo Hanson. Jerked off Eliot Waugh. At the same time. And I guess came out to Alice Quinn. Who is now possibly also fingering Margo Hanson. I’m kinda king of the world. I should get to kiss the boy, right?” Quentin mussed Eliot’s hair. “I’m the best fake boyfriend ever if you’re already inviting me on a cruise. I mean, these shorts have made me lose feeling in my balls, but other than that, I feel pretty good.”

Eliot grinned and batted Quentin’s hand away, trying to fix his hair. Then he grasped Quentin’s chin with thumb and forefinger and leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time in the gathering twilight with the crisp, cool sea breeze whipping around them and the catamaran rolling beneath their feet. Eliot’s other hand rested at the naked small of Quentin’s back, fingertips flexing possessively against his skin.

“Is your ass cold? I should check.” Quentin kissed Eliot again as he groped his ass, feeling weirdly… coupley, which was nice even if it was mostly pretend.

Music started again now that the sun had set, and people started whooping on the party boat. A few danced. Others started to pour off the back into the water. Some dove in to swim while others partied on floaties.

Quentin didn’t feel much like dancing again. Or swimming. Floating in the moonlight did sound nice.

He looked around briefly and leaned in. “Anyone here I need to rescue you from?”

“Mm, I dunno, I think that guy over there was looking kind of shifty.” Eliot laughed and jerked his chin in the direction of a very handsome, well-built guy in his late twenties. “I’m not sure if we’ve slept together or not, but he kept looking at me like we might’ve. You should stay close to me just in case.”

“Oh yeah, that looks serious. That guy has it bad for you.” The guy glanced over at them a couple of times but didn’t seem to be particularly concerned by either of them. Eliot seemed to know that. As if he was trying to pretend that he needed Quentin’s protection when he didn’t. “I tell you what, we’ll just walk by him together, go to that open bar, get a couple of bottles of something, and find one of those big unicorn floaties. We can let the sea hide us.”

“Genius,” Eliot replied, smiling at Quentin like Quentin really was a genius.

As they stepped away from the bow, Eliot wrapped his arm around Quentin’s shoulders. They strolled together all entangled to the open bar, and Eliot ordered them both a bottle of a local cider which apparently passed muster with him.

Then he kissed Quentin’s temple as the bartender put two cold, sweating bottles on the bar and whispered, “Is he looking at us? Is he _devastated?_ Tell me he’s devastated. I love crushing handsome ex-lovers.”

The guy appeared to be chatting up a young lady in a neon yellow bikini. She dipped in closer to him like they were sharing some dirty secret, and they both laughed.

“Yeah, he’s crying to his friends. This is going to stick with him forever. Just really tortured.” Quentin guided Eliot away with his hand on his back. “Don’t look. It’ll just make the humiliation worse.”

The smirk on Eliot’s face suggested he knew Quentin was lying and this was completely a game, but it was a fun game that Quentin wanted to play.

They headed to the side of the boat where the floaties were. The men huffed and hemmed about the unicorn floaties, preferring the plain blue ones. That was the sort of thing Quentin just refused to understand. What force on earth would make someone choose a plain blue floaty when you could have a _unicorn_?

But he’d accepted long ago he wasn’t what anyone thought of as a normal boy. Years of therapy had confirmed to him that he did have same-sex interest. Therapists would reach this conclusion with Sherlockian glee, as if they had found the source of Quentin’s depression.

It wasn’t.

At least, not on its own. He supposed it did come with its own set of side effects that made him feel alienated from so-called normal boys who would ride boring floaties. And if he’d been… wiser? He didn’t know, whatever. But maybe he would’ve just chosen the blue floaty and gotten on with it.

But he hadn’t. He’d retreated with his books, not necessarily thinking anything was wrong with _him_ but that the world was utterly disappointing.

Eliot seemed to understand that and took it ten times further than Quentin had the nerve to. Quentin eyed Eliot in his linen, all translucent and sexy, being utterly himself. Though Quentin still wasn’t totally comfortable in these clothes—they weren’t exactly how he’d present himself normally—he didn’t mind so much.

Well, he felt exposed still. He didn’t quite have the appreciation for his body that others did.

But he was pleased to ask for a unicorn floaty and ignored whatever reaction happened around him. Honestly, fuck anyone who didn’t appreciate a unicorn floaty.

Eliot got in first and helped Quentin in. They took a moment to steady themselves and then Eliot lay down using the unicorn’s head to lean against, and Quentin made himself at home between Eliot’s legs, pressing his back to Eliot’s chest as they floated away from the catamaran.

As they snuggled and sipped their cider, Eliot toyed with Quentin’s hair, both of them listening to the music blasting from the party boat. The stars were emerging overhead, bright in the purpling dusk, and Eliot’s hand was soothing, smoothing Quentin’s wayward strands and then coasting down his arm and his chest, just petting him.

“I’ve never done Encanto with a boyfriend,” Eliot confessed quietly. “This is the most relaxed I’ve ever been here.”

“Yeah well, the first fake boyfriend vacation is free. After that I jack up the price.” Still, the words made Quentin’s belly tingle. Eliot didn’t act like the boyfriend type, and Quentin wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Yet… the way that Eliot was talking… adding in the fact that he wasn’t trying to hop on other floaties but seemed content to float here with Quentin. “Sometimes parties are better from afar. Just lights and laughter. You don’t have all the turmoil, don’t know the fights or people jockeying for attention. And sometimes you meet the most interesting people on the fringe.”

“I’ve always been more of a life of the party type,” Eliot said quietly, hand splaying flat across Quentin’s bare belly and hugging him a little. “But I have to admit this is…pleasant. It’s nice not to be constantly on the prowl for once. I’m just usually so _bored_.”

But apparently he wasn’t bored with Quentin. Unless he was doing a great job faking his enjoyment of the snuggling, which was possible, Quentin guessed.

“How can you be bored with being on the prowl?” Quentin turned his head to look up at Eliot, admiring his profile against the night sky until Eliot turned to look at him.

“You’re doing a very good job of holding my attention, puppy,” Eliot murmured, like that was obvious. He offered Quentin a soft smile and flexed his hand against Quentin’s stomach, squeezing affectionately.

Quentin squirmed under Eliot’s touch, enjoying it but also a little ticklish. It also reminded him of how good Eliot’s hands felt on him elsewhere, which made him whimper. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Eliot’s words, but he felt the need to connect to him, so he twisted his body so he could meet Eliot’s lips.

Eliot kissed him back, slow and tender, smiling against Quentin’s mouth. He tasted like the good local cider, sweet and tangy, and licked into Quentin’s open, gasping mouth. Eliot’s tongue glided alongside Quentin’s, deepening the kiss, making it dirty and hungry, and then Eliot’s hand slipped lower, from Quentin’s stomach to his crotch, and squeezed him through the little shorts.

Quentin arched into the touch and moaned into Eliot’s mouth. He twisted his hips, rolling sideways on his hip so he could wrap his arms around Eliot’s neck. “You sure you’re not still on the prowl, Eliot?”

“Maybe for you, sweetheart, but you make everyone else seem like such a bore.” Eliot smiled and rubbed his hand between Quentin’s skin and the laces of his shorts, teasing. “You’re my friend, Q. You’re more than any random hookup could ever be.”

Which…given how Eliot was with Margo was probably true. Eliot was closer than close with those he deemed friends, affectionate on the verge of romantic, like platonic just wasn’t deep enough to encompass his emotions. But then, Eliot and Margo would prowl for others, and that was exactly the opposite of what he and Quentin were doing.

Quentin squirmed closer, encouraging Eliot to touch him as he rested one hand on the front of Eliot’s pants, rubbing slowly. “Isn’t this normally a place for random hookups, though?”

“Mm but I invited _you_ , and that’s not your deal,” Eliot sighed, arching into Quentin’s hand like they hadn’t already gotten off twice today. Then again, there was _something_ about this place. It was drenched in sex magic, and it just felt natural to be fucking horny all the time.

Eliot unlaced Quentin’s shorts with short, sharp tugs and then pulled his cock free. His long, deft fingers curled around Quentin’s shaft and stroked, working him almost lazily, like it was no big deal what they were doing. Not that anyone was looking—their floaty had drifted away from the others, and with the bobbing of the waves, it was difficult to see the others.

“Do you wish it was my deal?” Quentin looked up at Eliot as best he could with how good his hand felt on him. He weaved his fingers down under the layers of fabric to withdraw Eliot’s cock. His gaze lowered to it, not sure he could really stand hearing Eliot say he wished he was.

There were so many things that Quentin wasn’t, so many ways that he didn’t fit into the world. Even with Eliot, it seemed like an uncomfortable fit.

Quentin was the _summertime fling._

Eliot’s invitation to a cruise had been casual and probably unserious. Or perhaps he thought they could have another fling whenever the cruise happened.

“No, Q,” Eliot said instead, voice soft and reassuring. “I like you just this way.”

Then Eliot kissed him again, kissed Quentin like he wanted him, like he meant what he said. His fingertips teased the head of Quentin’s cock, featherlight. His own erection pulsed in Quentin’s hand, needy, thickening more by the moment until it stretched Quentin’s grip.

Quentin rolled all the way over and straddled Eliot’s lap. He wrapped his hand back around Eliot’s length. His other hand cupped Eliot’s face, thumb brushing his cheek as he kissed him back. Moments like this he felt so close to Eliot, and though there was a big part of him that feared he was just putting himself in line for a world of hurt, he couldn’t help it.

Fear only worked on him for so long.

It reminded him of a song: _The Moth_ by Aimee Mann, which his depressed ass had listened to constantly in undergrad. He sang almost tunelessly against Eliot’s lips, “ _The moth don’t care when he sees the flame. He might get burned, but he’s in the game._ ”

Eliot opened his eyes and gazed into Quentin’s from so close it was all a blur. He smiled then, all eyelashes and crinkles, lips curling against Quentin’s, and he whispered, “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it popped into my head. Not really raver music. I mean, there’s kind of a cool electronica sort of cover of it, but… it doesn’t matter.” Quentin blushed, not sure what impulse caused him to try to make this a musical episode. At least it wasn’t Taylor Swift. “Julia just said the song reminded her of me, and it’s… never mind.”

Quentin was fully flustered now. He’d been doing so well, and now he’d dorked it all up being, well, a dork.

But Eliot settled his cider bottle into the floaty’s drinkholder to free his hand and then carded his fingers into Quentin’s hair. “You’re beautiful, you know,” he whispered, holding Quentin’s hair out of his face so he couldn’t hide in it. “And you can sing to me any time you want, Q.”

“I’m not the best singer. I get songs stuck in my head sometimes.” Quentin supposed Eliot knew that already after the Penny incident. He pressed forehead against Eliot’s. “I just… I sometimes leap before I look.”

Quentin brought his hands up to Eliot’s face, thumbs skimming over the stubble. “Okay, pretty much all the time. That is what I do.”

He tilted his head to the side and kissed Eliot deeply, suffusing it with his confusion of emotions, which was probably terrible to do with Eliot trapped out in the middle of the water with him, but he was magic. If he wanted to escape, he could.

Eliot responded though, kissing Quentin back wildly, arching under him and caressing his hair, his shoulders, down his arms. Like it was no big deal, like Quentin wasn’t freaking Eliot out, and maybe, just maybe, Eliot was still buzzed enough to go with it, to just let Quentin have this. Then Eliot dropped a hand between their bodies and grasped their cocks so the smooth satin of their undersides glided together while they kissed.

He made it so easy sometimes, Eliot did, like all this was so natural and simple. Like Quentin could just take what he wanted, just _have_ it, like Eliot _wanted_ to give it.

Quentin wrapped his legs around Eliot’s waist, making himself comfortable and at home clinging to Eliot like this. Then Quentin started leaning back, pulling him down on top of Quentin. He wanted to feel his weight on him, to touch like they were lovers. Which they kind of were, even if it was fake or just for now. It felt real, and Quentin lacked the reserves to resist.

The unicorn floaty squeaked and wobbled a little, but the enchantments on it kept it from capsizing as Eliot followed Quentin down. His long, lean body stretched out over Quentin’s, and he kissed him again and again, seeming hungry for Quentin, like he couldn’t get enough. The heat and pressure of his body weighing Quentin down, pressing him into the plastic, sent a thrill through Quentin, a hot flush of awareness that they’d never done this before, not like this.

“Q,” Eliot whispered, checking in. His curls fell into his shadowed eyes as he looked at Quentin, hips still, poised above Quentin’s, and he was so vulnerable with his legs hitched around Eliot’s waist, but they were still clothed, and it wasn’t entirely crazy. “Is this what you need?”

“It’s what I want.” Need, Quentin didn’t know. He wasn’t ready to go there. If he started letting himself need, then being a fling would really hurt.

Quentin released Eliot’s waist, letting his legs relax, wrapped around Eliot’s legs. He reached between them, gathering their cocks together. “Is it what you need?”

Eliot’s brow furrowed for a moment, like he was trying to parse the implications, but then he just smiled, dazzling as always, and went in for another kiss. He probably didn’t understand. It was probably _good_ he didn’t understand. This was all embarrassing enough as it was, with wants and needs and Eliot so above it all, so profoundly out of Quentin’s league, at least as far as relationships went.

Who knew what it would take to persuade Eliot someone was worth staying with?

Sounding a little puzzled, Eliot said, “I’m easy, Q. Pretty much anything works for me. You just…seemed to have a plan when you toppled me so daringly. But who needs plans when there’s Ibizan stars overhead and that pretty little mouth of yours to kiss?”

Smiling again, Eliot leaned in and did just that, brushing their mouths together and making a soft, happy sound like this was just what he wanted.

“Huh?” Quentin rewound their positions and the _toppling_ which wasn’t exactly how Quentin would’ve characterized it, but… “Oh.”

Quentin’s body felt hot as he realized what he was communicating, and he looked up past Eliot at the stars, listened to the soft lapping of the waves, breathed the salty air and basked in the moonlight. “Um. I mean. It’s… kind of a romantic setting. Certainly unusual. The unicorn is maybe not the sexiest choice, um…”

“Unicorns are the _sexiest_ choice,” Eliot corrected with a little grin, propping himself on one arm and cradling Quentin’s cheek. He toyed with Quentin’s bottom lip with his thumb, looking into his eyes so fondly it stole Quentin’s breath.

Sometimes Eliot just gave him these _looks_ , like there was really something there, like Quentin really mattered, and it wasn’t fair at all to look at him that way when it was just pretend, when it was some kind of fling.

And then Eliot kissed him again, deep and slow and heartbreakingly tender, hips rocking slowly downward to rub their cocks together. It felt so good, but Quentin’s mind was still reeling with the possibilities. How often was anyone presented with the opportunity to fuck on a unicorn floaty in Ibiza?

_Yearly for Eliot_ , the self-sabotaging part of his brain unhelpfully provided. _And isn’t it a little silly?_

It probably was, but Eliot’s weight pinning him down felt so good. Kissing him was amazing…the warmth, the flick of his tongue, his taste, his stubble scraping against Quentin’s chin. Their cocks moved together, and it felt so _good_.

Quentin rolled them over so he was on top of Eliot, grinding against him as he kissed over his neck, nibbling his throat. Eliot tipped his head back, giving Quentin room, and laughed a little.

“Getting bold,” Eliot observed breathily. “I like it.” He ran his hands over Quentin’s back before sliding them down the back of his shorts, squeezing his cheeks playfully as he rubbed up against him with a moan. “You were so shy on your birthday; I had my doubts you’d ever come around.”

“I’m not really… a public person with that, and… it was kinda outing me and…I was really surprised.” Quentin kissed Eliot again and started moving down his body. “Sometimes I just need some time to adjust. And the dancefloor, well, I mean, it’s different at an orgy, right?”

He started working his way down Eliot’s body to where his cock was pulled from his pants. Quentin looked down at it. That was… going to be a lot for his mouth, but he did want to at least try, and he’d said as much. Sure, he was high at the time, but he’d meant it.

“And here…it’s not like anyone can watch how bad I am at giving head. Except you, but you know it’s my first time, so… I mean, unless you don’t want me to.”

El stared at Quentin like his brain was boiling over, eyes dazed, jaw slack. Then he moved quickly, stripping out of his pants, which left him in an extraordinarily inadequate purple jockstrap that did absolutely nothing to hide his beautiful body.

“I want,” Eliot said, voice husky with lust. He shivered like he was cold and laughed. “Margo’s going to regret missing this, but I’m glad it’s just the two of us if an audience makes you nervous.” He caressed Quentin’s cheek. “And I’ve been dying to get my mouth on you again.”

“Yeah?” Quentin definitely liked that idea. He looked around quickly. There was no one near them, so Quentin pulled the laces on his pants and wiggled out of them, leaving on his shirt, which was probably weird but, well, he wasn’t going to think too much or he’d chicken out. “You can’t do that while I’m trying to suck your dick. I won’t… I don’t think I can wrap my head around that much all at once right now. Just let me um… at least try.”

“Oh, no, I’ll do it after as a reward for your heroism in attempting to tame the beast,” Eliot murmured, grinning at Quentin and running his hands over Quentin’s newly bared ass like he just wanted to touch. It wasn’t especially sexual or intimidating, just affectionate. “A word of advice: Use your hand at the base to keep it steady or it’ll do unpredictable things. It really does have a mind of its own.”

“So an actual trouser snake?” Quentin grinned, relaxing that they were joking. He could be calm and just do this, and Eliot wasn’t going to probably talk about how bad it was. Well, except to Margo, probably. “Good thing I’m not afraid of snakes.”

Cocks, well, he wasn’t afraid of those, either. Curious mostly, and very curious about Eliot’s. He’d had lots of time since his birthday to think about it, and by now his hand was very familiar. Quentin grabbed it by the base, then used his other hand to further steady it.

He knew the obvious things. Cover your teeth, lots of tongue. Steady it. Quentin leaned down and rolled his tongue over the tip experimentally, starting out just licking it. His pulse raced as he gazed up at Eliot, looking for affirmation.

“Jesus, you look so pretty like that.” Eliot brushed Quentin’s hair back, holding it out of the way, and sighed his pleasure. “Do that again, with your tongue. That’s good.”

As Quentin obliged, Eliot groaned and arched, his big cock pulsing in Quentin’s grip and beading precum against his tongue. Eliot squirmed a little, eyes wide, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched Quentin.

“Bet this is really making that guy on the boat jealous.” Quentin gave a little nervous laugh and then leaned in, sliding his tongue over the head again and then moved to one slide to stripe the shaft with his tongue. His toes curled in excitement, thrilled to be doing this even though he was kinda terrified, but also pleased that Eliot thought he looked pretty.

Quentin wasn’t vain. He knew he wasn’t hideous. He’d even been called cute. But there was something special about how Eliot looked at him, how much he wanted to see him doing this.

Quentin covered his teeth with his lips and mouthed the tip. The point of his tongue flicked over it, lapping up the salty taste of him. He’d been a little worried about what the taste would be like or the texture, but so far, Quentin found that he enjoyed it, and he very much enjoyed the noises that Eliot made. He was a good singer, and there was something deep and mellow and resonant even about his sex sounds, like he couldn’t do anything in any way except beautifully.

As Quentin lapped at him and licked up the vein on the side of Eliot’s thick shaft, Eliot’s breath caught, and he opened his mouth wide as if gasping without sound, hand tightening on Quentin’s hair. He stretched and arched a little, feet squeaking against the plastic of the unicorn floaty as he shifted. From Quentin’s vantage, Eliot looked amazing, the sea breeze blowing his curls wildly beneath the star-studded violet sky, his eyeliner smudged and his lips swollen from kissing and from biting the pouty lower.

“That guy on the boat’s got nothing on you,” Eliot murmured, sounding like he meant it.

Quentin knew he’d gag; that was just going to happen. Eliot was big, and Quentin hadn’t ever tried to do anything like this before. He was pretty sure Eliot wasn’t going to expect that Quentin perform like a professional on his first go, but he wanted the experience. He wanted to try.

He’d heard that maybe it helped to swallow during, so he opened his mouth wide, covered his teeth, and took Eliot in, moving him as deep as he could get until he started getting that slightly panicky pre-gag feeling and backed off.

That was nowhere near all of Eliot’s cock, but he made up the difference with his hand as best he could, drool running freely, which Quentin liked in a blowjob, though he wasn’t sure if that was everyone’s thing.

“Mm you’re a _messy boy_ ,” Eliot crooned, like that was the best and hottest thing Quentin could be. “I _love_ a messy boy.”

It made Quentin blush, his skin blazing hot, and Eliot just smiled and stroked his cheek with the backs of his fingers, so gentle. “Do you like that, Q? You don’t have to take it all. You don’t even have to take half. If you just suck on the tip and stroke the rest all slick like that, it’ll get me there. Just watching you would get me there.”

“Really?” That worked for Quentin, but he also had never heard of a bad blowjob before Eliot. He didn’t even know they _could_ be bad, but then, he hadn’t had a lot of them. He flipped his hair back, still working Eliot’s cock with his hand. “I like it messy, I guess. I thought maybe you’d… and yeah. I do like it. Is that weird? I wasn’t sure if I would and… I think it kinda helps it’s yours. I don’t think I’d just like sucking any dick.”

Eliot preened visibly, fluttering his lashes playfully at Quentin. “You say the _sweetest_ things, baby boy. Watch out, yeah? Keep talking like that, and I just might keep you.”

“Is it sweet to be picky about dicks?” Quentin let out a self-conscious giggle, not entirely sure how to react to being kept. He’d like that, he thought, but then, what did he know? He wiggled a little. “It’s objectively a very nice dick.”

Before he could ramble further, Quentin followed Eliot’s instruction, sucking the tip, not taking it too deep, but moving with enthusiasm, bobbing his head a little, mostly using his tongue. He kept moving his hand, using the other to push back the hair that escaped El’s grip so he could better watch.

Quentin maintained eye contact as best he could, but he also enjoyed losing himself to Eliot’s sounds and the way that he moved under him. It was a strangely powerful feeling. He didn’t know why homophobes were so weird about it.

Eliot stroked Quentin’s face, seeming fascinated by it, as caught up in this as Quentin was, and that eased Quentin’s anxieties a little. Being with Eliot this way wasn’t at all what Quentin had expected. Like, yes, Eliot was bizarrely, brazenly confident and had a huge dick, but he was also effusive and encouraging and tender, and it was so much easier than Quentin had thought it would be. It felt worryingly, disarmingly natural.

As Quentin got Eliot closer, Eliot’s raspy little sighs came faster, and he thrust into Quentin’s mouth a little, seeming to lose the battle with restraint. “Quentin,” he whispered, one hand in Quentin’s hair and one in his own, like he needed to pull his own hair to stay sane. “Q, oh my god.”

Quentin’s own grip kept Eliot from thrusting too deep, but Eliot didn’t even try. His hips just bucked in tiny, frantic little increments that kept time with his ragged breaths. His gaze was hot and weighty against Quentin’s skin, like he was memorizing this, like it mattered to him it was Quentin.

He kept working Eliot, gazing at him, his own growing excitement reflecting Eliot’s. It all but undid Quentin to hear him like that, to see Eliot moving that way. Quentin was going to swallow, or at least try.

It was good he’d made that decision, because a moment later Eliot was making desperate noises and pulled warningly at Quentin’s hair. Quentin gazed at him with steely determination, and then his mouth was full.

Very full. Too full.

He swallowed as best he could, as much as he could, and as fast as he could. But then it was too much, and Quentin coughed, sputtering cum messily, feeling it dribble over his chin and back onto Eliot’s cock.

“Messy boy,” Eliot murmured approvingly. With a dreamy smile, he released Quentin and slumped back against the floaty. As he stretched out, he moaned and flicked his fingers to telekinetically direct a half-finished bottle of cider to Quentin. “Drink up, Q. You’ve earned it, and you probably don’t want your mouth tasting like my spunk.”

Quentin wiped his face off on his shirt before thinking that was not the best choice probably. But, well it was Margo’s and probably not the first time Radiohead had been sperm spattered. He took the bottle and swigged it, letting the cider wash away some of the taste of Eliot, not that he’d minded it. He lacked grace, but it was his first time and he supposed he could be forgiven.

“So does that make me a man now?” He giggled a little and took another swig before pulling off the half shirt, because who was he hiding from at this point? He blotted the spunk and spittle from Eliot’s dick and abdomen before crawling over next to Eliot. He flopped down on his side, and Eliot snuggled up to him reflexively.

“You’ve been a man for a while, Q. A cute, cute, sexy one.” Eliot stroked Quentin’s cheek and then went in for a kiss. His lips sought Quentin’s hungrily, surprisingly aggressive, and Eliot rolled over to face Quentin, hugging him close. “Thank you, gorgeous. That was extremely satisfying.”

Then Eliot reached down to caress Quentin’s cock. He raised his brow and smiled. “My turn?”

“I was just… it was a joke. You guys kept calling me a virgin, and it was my first time to… never mind.” The best jokes were always the ones that required explanations, right?

Quentin closed his eyes, trying to ignore what a dork he was and enjoy the feeling of Eliot against his now naked body. Eliot’s hand on him felt so good. He was so hard after doing that he wasn’t sure Eliot’s mouth would even make it on him, though his joke bombing was sobering. “Yeah. If you still want to.”

“Oh Q,” Eliot murmured, frowning at him as he jerked his cock in slow, rough motions that kept Quentin right on the edge. “How do you not know that you being a giant nerd is roughly sixty percent of your charm?”

Then Eliot pushed Quentin onto his back and rolled on top of him, a slow smile spreading across his face as he gazed down at him. It looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he just kissed Quentin again, pulling Quentin’s cock as he fucked Quentin’s mouth with his tongue like he wanted to devour him. When he’d utterly stolen Quentin’s breath, Eliot kissed his jaw, his collarbone, his nipple, lingering there for a few moments before he moved lower, and lower.

Curls falling into his kohl-lined eyes, Eliot looked up at Quentin and then swirled his tongue around the head of Quentin’s cock like it was something delicious.

A flash of Margo sucking his nipples earlier in the day returned to him, and he was surprised he had been surprised that she’d stolen his girl. Well, not _his_ girl.

God, it didn’t matter because Eliot was looking at him like _that,_ and his tongue moved around him and it was so exquisitely warm and wet. Quentin shuddered, arching his back as he reached up with both hands, bracing himself against the wall of the floaty. “God, that feels so good. Fuck, El.”

Eliot’s gaze roamed over Quentin’s torso before returning to his face, like Eliot was drinking him in, and he sucked him deeper, taking Quentin in inch by inch and moaning like just the press of Quentin’s shaft against his tongue did it for him. Eliot’s hands grasped Quentin by the hips, pinning him down, and then Eliot swallowed him down, taking Quentin into his throat and bobbing his head, gaze locked on Quentin’s.

“Jesus.” Quentin stretched his arms out, gripping the floaty as he fought the urge to come immediately. It was almost futile, though; he was swallowed to the hilt and already so turned on. Even though he mostly tasted cider, he could still taste remnants of Eliot.

It reminded him of what they’d done. What _he’d_ done. The only thing keeping him from coming apart completely too soon was that he’d already come a couple of times today. If vacation kept up like this, he was going to need a vacation after it.

He looked down at Eliot, flexing his abdomen, sucking in so he could see as much of Eliot as he could. Quentin wrapped his legs around Eliot, holding him in as he started to tremble hard, shouting despite himself. Out of his mind, he couldn’t stop how loud he was getting even as he was vaguely embarrassed at the way that the wind carried the sound.

Eliot just grinned at Quentin around his cock, cheeks reddened with effort, dark eyes glittering behind his sooty lashes in the moonlight reflecting off the water, and it was all too much. It was too perfect, too beautiful, so romantically ideal that Quentin couldn’t contain himself, and as he erupted in Eliot’s mouth, Eliot swallowed noisily, tongue swirling around him to catch every drop. He kept sucking until Quentin was too tender to stand it and squirmed away.

Then Eliot lifted his head, lounged back against the unicorn’s neck, and sipped his cider like none of this was a big deal. He sprawled comfortably, making room for Quentin between his legs, and held out his arms to beckon him close.

Quentin moved to Eliot and rested in his arms, back to his chest, and he stared up at the sky as he caught his breath. He pulled Eliot’s arms around him, a little chilled in the moment, but also he wanted to be held and maybe babied a little. “I’m sure your ex heard that and really regrets his life choices. Wishes he were me.”

“Mm, you think so?” Eliot sounded delighted by the idea, snugging his arms tighter around Quentin and kissing his hair as he nuzzled closer. “I like to think I’m the one that got away and won’t _go_ away. I just keep coming back to flaunt my unavailability.” He laughed and kissed the corner of Quentin’s mouth, hands splayed over Quentin’s chest almost protectively. “He can pine, but I’m all yours now.”

Quentin closed his eyes, just wanting to enjoy the feeling of Eliot being his. Even though it was fake, and they were clearly joking, it made him happy. “So what do we do now? Float around until dawn? Let the currents bring us in? Return to the boat smelling like sea and semen?”

“To be fair, most everyone else smells like sea and semen too,” Eliot replied, sounding untroubled. “But it _is_ getting chilly. Maybe we head to shore; we’ll help the current along. The floaty will tether back to the catamaran in a while no matter where we leave it.”

He lifted his hands from Quentin’s belly and manipulated his long, elegant fingers through a series of tuts Quentin didn’t recognize, golden magic sparkling between his fingertips. The floaty picked up speed, heading not away from the boat as much as back the way they’d come. Zipping over the waves, the sea spray drizzled over them but not in nearly the amount Quentin had braced for. Instead, it deflected off some kind of magical shield and only the waves that splashed high enough made it over and sprinkled down onto them.

Eliot laughed as they whizzed along, wrapping his legs around Quentin in approximation of a hug as his hands stayed busy working the magic, directing the floaty.

“Oh, I should… um…” Quentin sat up and started feeling around for his pants. Once he found them, he cast a quick cleaning spell and then pulled them on and laced them up. He supposed he could just let the half shirt go, but he did a cleaning spell on it anyway because he wasn’t going to give Margo back a half shirt caked in cum.

“Oh, _cutie_. The walk of shame would’ve been so much more fun.” Eliot grinned and nodded at his abandoned trousers, gathered in a heap at the bottom of the floaty. “Grab those for me, and I’ll go bare-assed for both of us, pay proper penance to the party gods.”

“Why does anyone need to pay penance? I think you just want to show your ass off.” Quentin picked up Eliot’s pants anyway. He finished off the open bottle of cider and then picked up the second one to take back to the room with them.

On the shore, Quentin got out first and helped Eliot out of the floaty like a scantily clad gentleman. At least until Eliot passed him and Quentin swiftly swatted Eliot’s bare ass. “Party gods demanded you wear my handprint.”

Eliot laughed and looked back at Quentin, mischief in his eyes, glittering in the darkening twilight. “And I will wear it proudly.” He grinned and held out his hand to hold Quentin’s. “C’mon, Margo’s waiting. Possibly. If she’s not still busy fucking Alice or whoever else. The point is… She might’ve wondered where we’ve been all this time, and I want to brag to her that I got you to put your mouth on my penis.”

Quentin paused in the sand, horrified. “Do we _have_ to tell her?”

Eliot paused too and then backtracked to kiss Quentin gently, cradling his jaw in one hand. “We don’t _have_ to do anything, Q. Are you—” His brow furrowed, expression darkening. Then he just shrugged. “We don’t have to tell anyone. You’ve been a very good sport, Q. I shouldn’t push my luck.” He donned a sunny, wheedling smile. “Forgive me?”

“I just don’t want Margo to get mad we didn’t let her watch.” Quentin paused, clutching the clothes to his chest. “I can’t have her yell at me like she did over Welters.”

Something relaxed in Eliot’s expression, his smile easing into something tender. Laughing softly, he said, “Margo won’t yell, Q. I promise.”

He took Quentin by the hand again and drew him along up the beach toward their villa, his glances at Quentin inexplicably soft.

“Okay, but she seemed really adamant about wanting to watch.” Quentin leaned against Eliot as they walked, relieved. “If she asks, I’m going to blame you.”

Eliot just laughed and kissed Quentin’s temple. “Well then we’ll just have to put on a show for her next time.”

“Yeah.” Quentin nodded, but he had to admit that he’d liked having Eliot all to himself. It didn’t seem like that was necessarily on the table, though. It seemed strange to complain about sex with Margo Hanson. She was very sexy and talented, but it was easier to focus on one person at a time. “Maybe, um… I should practice some more before we make it a show?”

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed, giving Quentin another of those soft, fond looks. He bumped their shoulders together. “Yeah, lots of practice. Every chance we get, if you want.” He raised a brow then, questioning.

Quentin blushed and pushed Eliot toward the gate leading to the host hotel. “Go on. Don’t give me any ideas.” He laughed, but really, practice didn’t sound too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> El's pov next! If there's anything you're just dying to see in the upcoming chapters, leave a comment. ♥ Or just leave a comment anyway so I can talk to y'all about these idiots.


	7. In Which Magic Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot takes Quentin on a date. No faking. It's magical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm super busy this week, but we finished this chapter and wanted to get it out to you guys! Thank you so much for all your comments. Trust and believe, we share the Queliot feels. ♥ I was in kind of a rush to post this, so it may have some minor errors. >_> <_< Please love us anyway!

Shortly after seven a.m., Eliot consulted his magical astrology app, created by a team of technomancers who really knew their shit. It wasn’t like he let it run his life, but he definitely preferred to consult it daily for pointers on what he should be sensitive to. He had a bad tendency to run roughshod over others, and Quentin was such a delicate boy in so many ways, strong but easily wounded.

Having calculated their natal charts had really given Eliot a glimpse of their relationship’s potential, though. He’d always thought it was a hopeless crush, but his compatibility scores with Q were comparable to his scores with _Bambi_ , and he’d never thought that would happen.

It was walking a fine line, though, wasn’t it? Because on the one hand, a romantic relationship between them could be life-changing, at least according to Eliot’s gut instincts and the app, but if Eliot came on too strong, he might spook Quentin back into his shell, and the profile for Cancer guys stated unequivocally that if Eliot wounded Q now, before their bond was solid, Q would never forgive him.

The thing was… Eliot always came on strong. He didn’t know how to stop himself.

In retrospect, maybe sucking Quentin’s cock in the common room had been a tactical blunder. It hadn’t occurred to him that Quentin would feel _outed_ by it; most guys didn’t consider being blown particularly gay so much as opportunistic.

And now Q had returned the favor, which seemed fairly unstraight, and Eliot was starting to think maybe the stars were right. There really _was_ something here. It was just so fraught, wasn’t it? A potentially doomed endeavor that must be executed with exacting precision.

Today’s chart suggested lots of time outdoors, and Quentin’s profile said that he loved the beach. Which, Cancer’s symbol was the crab. So of course. That had been working great so far, and Eliot was willing to trust it further.

Moreover, the chart told him to give Q a gift. It was highly auspicious, apparently, to gift silver jewelry, so Q was going to have to suck it up and accept a new bracelet or something. The stars demanded.

Eliot had expected to be the only one awake at this hour, but Margo was already in the bathroom getting dressed. Apparently she was having breakfast with Alice, which…

Eliot could only be grateful Margo was distracting his competition, but the way Margo was primping suggested this was more than taking one for the team. She _liked_ Alice.

She’d always liked Alice, though. The question had always been whether Alice liked Margo back.

Could it be possible that Alice was Margo’s Quentin? His eyes widened at the thought. They _did_ share a passion for high strung super nerds, and Margo had certainly dabbled in the Sapphic arts on occasion. She always lamented she regretted the men she’d slept with as disappointments, but he’d never heard her badmouth her female conquests.

Their shared queerness had always been part of what drew them together, after all, but… Well, Eliot had never considered Margo might actually _pursue_ _a relationship_ with a woman. She’d always seemed on track to stay a party girl forever, someday becoming the fun aunt to everyone’s kids and never settling down herself.

But this…

Well, Eliot was putting the cart before the horse. Or the future before the present. Regardless, Margo would ream him for it, so he tucked away those speculations, ventured into the bathroom to kiss Margo’s temple, and murmured, “I’m taking Quentin on an adventure today. Good luck with your Ellen situation.”

“So you won’t be on campus here?” Margo looked at him in the mirror with a brow raised. She reached for the gloss to apparently add some shine to her lips. “Might help me coax her from her villa. But then, the Quinns probably have one of those really nice ones with their own pool, so I don’t know if we’ll leave anyway. Looks like you wore that boy out. Not that it probably takes much.”

“He’s not used to so much excitement,” Eliot whispered with a leer. “Have fun seducing Alice. I expect a full report later, preferably out of Q’s hearing. I want all the juicy, lesbionic details.”

Eliot kissed her again on the temple, neatly avoiding mussing her hair or makeup, and then let himself out of their villa to head to the front desk. The concierge was on duty at all hours, but fortunately most of Encanto’s attendees were still asleep, so there was no one else to complicate Eliot’s conversation. He listed off his requirements for their day’s outing, selected the appropriate jewelry and wrapping for Q’s gift, and then paid for it all with his personal sigil before strolling past the breakfast bar.

Retrieving more than their fair share of ensaïmada and fresh fruit, plus a carafe of hot coffee, Eliot headed back to the villa and let himself in. Margo had already left, and Quentin was still asleep, his soft mouth in a heartbreakingly sweet little pout.

Eliot placed their breakfast on the table in the suite’s living area and then crawled onto the big bed next to Quentin and curled around him like the big spoon. “Hey,” he said, giving Quentin a tight hug. “Today we’re going to have an unforgettable Ibizan adventure. Let’s start now.”

“We are?” Quentin sniffed and rubbed his eyes with his fists before yawning and stretching. He snuggled against Eliot in the most endearing way. Even better since Eliot had convinced Quentin to sleep naked. “Are we gonna zip line?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Eliot answered, filing that away. He kissed Quentin’s hair and smiled at him, impossibly charmed, and sighed softly. “I rented a car. We’re going on a trip, just the two of us. All the other magicians will be here at Encanto, but we’ll venture out to the wild, quiet places together.”

Quentin rolled over to look at Eliot, seeming pleased. “Really? Somewhere quiet? Just the two of us?” He looked around, brows furrowed. “Where did Margo go? I saw her last night. Is she mad at me?”

“No, baby Q, Margo’s not mad at you.” Eliot stroked Quentin’s hair, drawing Quentin closer and kissed his forehead. “She just had a breakfast date with Alice.”

Drawing back, trying to seem casual, Eliot studied Quentin’s expression, looking for some hint he was displeased by that. “Apparently they’re really hitting it off.”

“Oh, good.” Quentin looked relieved more than anything else, which was encouraging. Why he was relieved was hard to say. He’d boasted about fingering Margo, but then it seemed like he very much enjoyed their time alone. “Alice didn’t think Margo liked her. Guess she was wrong.”

He sat up a little, saw the breakfast spread, and started pulling Eliot out of bed with him. “Oh, that smells really good.”

Eliot let himself be tugged along, enjoying the view as Quentin headed to the table naked. He really was just delicious, and Eliot wanted to eat him alive.

But coming on too strong. It was a problem. He had to pace himself.

Eliot was just in one of his silk dressing gowns as he folded himself onto the chair and reached for some pastry. “You don’t mind that I made plans without consulting you?” he asked carefully, searching Quentin for some sign of displeasure.

“I haven’t been really consulted much, I guess. Thought I was just kind of along for the ride. Though, I guess if I’m supposed to be a fake boyfriend, going off alone doesn’t make a lot of sense.” Quentin rubbed his forehead again but sipped his coffee. “Unless, I mean, do I have to be naked in public?”

Eliot laughed and shook his head. “No, you have to be dressed for most of our day trip. We’ll be leaving the Encanto Oculto grounds and ordinary social mores will once more apply. Feel free to wear cargo shorts and a worn-out V-neck if it pleases your slovenly little heart.”

He extended his foot to kick Quentin gently so he’d know Eliot was only teasing and then confided, “Margo would slap me for encouraging you, but you’re honestly adorable in your usual, non-slutty clothes. The eyeliner is super hot on you, though. Like…wow, you have beautiful eyes.”

Was that too personal? Too much? Too intimate?

Eliot stuffed his mouth with pastry and averted his gaze for a moment, uncomfortable with his own candor.

“Really?” Quentin touched his eye as if he had to confirm he had them. “I always thought they were kind of boring. I guess I thought _I_ was kind of boring. I don’t even have cargo shorts.”

That seemed to send Quentin into some sort of internal monologue as he stared off into space, presumably about cargo shorts. “I like to be comfortable. I don’t know, I guess I just don’t care that much about what I look like. No one’s ever seemed to really care that much about what I’m wearing. I mean, when they did, it was just to make fun of me, so I guess I just stopped trying.”

Oh. Oh no.

A strong surge of emotion built in Eliot’s gut and flowed upward like a really awful tide, not unlike nausea but so much worse because it was _feelings_. He reached for Quentin’s hand and twined their fingers. He could _feel_ the protectiveness radiating off him, and it was terrible, just…such a mistake, but he couldn’t _stop_ it.

“Q, you are without a doubt the cutest boy at Brakebills. I can’t even… No one comes close to your sheer adorability. I’m making myself physically ill right now telling you all this, but you _deserve to know_.” Eliot took a deep breath, huffed, and stared Quentin dead in the eye. “Yes, slutty makeovers are fun. Yes, I like to tease you about your fashion choices. But I would _never_ want you to stop expressing yourself with your wardrobe, even if what you want to express is along the lines of ‘I am a basic white boy with an astounding collection of ironic graphic tees’.”

Eliot sighed and moved to sit on the arm of Quentin’s chair, gazing down at him with affection it was pointless to try concealing. “We’re going shopping. We’re going to just buy you so many clothes to take home with you. Not party clothes that me and Margo choose for you. Just…stuff that makes you feel good.” He paused and conceded, “But maybe some sexy underwear. You deserve sexy underwear. _I_ deserve you in sexy underwear.”

“I did used to have ironic graphic tees, but Julia said I wasn’t a teenager anymore.” Quentin gave a little shrug, but his cheeks were bright red, and he didn’t seem to even know where to start. He put his arm around Eliot though, and that was good. “You really don’t like what I wear?”

“It’s not the most stylish,” Eliot answered as diplomatically as he could. “I just wish you’d…care about yourself more. Like I care about you.”

And there it was again, too much emotion bleeding through. Eliot bit his lip and looked away. “You matter more than you think you do, Q. You’re one of us, part of our lives. It’s not… It’s not going to kill you to invest in yourself.”

Quentin fiddled with his hair, seeming a little edgy on the subject. “I mean, I would like some better underwear, I guess. I didn’t think I wasn’t investing in myself. I dress up when I need to. Try to be appropriate to the occasion. It’s not like… I mean, my clothes are clean. I take care of myself.”

Frowning, Eliot took brief inventory of what he knew about Q, all the struggles with his mood and the persistent battle against unhappiness. Eliot related in a lot of ways, but he knew it was harder for Quentin, that sometimes just staying in school and getting out of bed was all he could do.

“I know,” Eliot said after a moment, leaning in against Quentin. “You’re always clean. You always smell good, Q. And I know you make an effort. I just mean…something more. I—”

Eliot took a few seconds to collect his thoughts and said quietly, “You’re this amazing guy, but you treat yourself like you’re average. I’m no better than you are, Quentin; I just invested in myself. Perhaps to a narcissistic degree of self-absorption, so I don’t necessarily encourage you to emulate me. Just…believe in yourself, Q.”

Quentin leaned against Eliot and closed his eyes. He let out a soft sigh. “Yeah, I guess we can buy me whatever, but I still won’t know how to put it together. Are you going to lay out my clothes every night?”

A pang struck Eliot at those words, at that thought. He _wanted_ that with a ferocity and immediacy that disarmed him. How would it be to be in Quentin’s room every night, going through his closet, selecting the clothes _Eliot_ wanted to see him in, to dress him like Eliot’s very own beautiful dolly?

Feigning neutrality, Eliot shrugged. “I could do that. You’d look good in buttoned shirts and tweeds. No need for a tie. I like you a little rumpled.”

“I wear buttoned shirts sometimes. Tweed? I guess if it’s cold. I like layers so I can take things off or put them on. I like stuff that’s soft. And jeans. I’ve been trying to wear more stretchy skinny jeans though; I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” Quentin looked up at Eliot, his forehead wrinkled and brows knitted together like a little puppy’s, as if he needed affirmation. “I just can’t always really make myself care.”

“What if… What if I care for you?” Eliot asked carefully, looking into Quentin’s eyes. “Whatever makes you feel good. Soft things. Jeans. Layers. But…put together. So you feel more confident. You deserve to feel confident, Quentin.”

“I don’t know how clothes are going to make me feel more confident, but maybe it’ll work. That’s not what we’re doing today, is it? Shopping? That doesn’t sound like a big Ibiza adventure. Kind of an adventure we could have just about anywhere.” Quentin started to eat again, so at least there was that.

Eliot sighed and looked away, feeling like an idiot. Just because it worked for him didn’t mean it would work for Quentin, or that Quentin would be excited about such a prospect. He was probably coming on too strong again, sounding too controlling, and whether Quentin was straight or not, he seemed to have a straight man’s relationship to clothes.

“Right. No. It’s… That’s not our adventure today. I promise today will be…magical, and exciting, and something you’ve never seen before.” Steeling himself against more foot-in-mouth disease, Eliot stood and returned to his own chair to eat his feelings.

The ensaïmada was delicious. Fuck fruit. Eliot would be goddamned if he did anything good for him right now. He washed down the pastry with coffee and tried very hard not to emote in Quentin’s direction.

They were going to have an amazing day. Amazing. It would be perfect.

After they finished their breakfast, Eliot dressed for the sunshine in a silk tank and drawstring linen pants, these less transparent than previously but equally stylish and luxurious. He felt good in it as he ran styling cream through his curls and primped a little in the mirror, working his ego back up to the heights necessary to withstand Quentin’s myriad tiny rejections.

None of them were Quentin’s fault of course; he had no idea how Eliot felt, what Eliot wanted. Quentin operated under the assumption they were friends messing around, and by Eliot’s own admission, he found Quentin to be the most attractive person at Brakebills. It wasn’t as if Quentin had _asked_ for Eliot to have this stubborn crush, or as if he’d ever done anything to encourage it beyond being Eliot’s friend and being amenable to this whole situation.

But honestly, pretending Quentin was his boyfriend was torture of the sweetest kind, and Eliot had kind of done this to himself. Margo had _tried_ to stop him. She’d _tried_ to talk him out of this ridiculous fancy.

It was only when Margo realized nothing was working to discourage Eliot’s fixation that she’d offered to help him seduce Quentin, and now Quentin actually seemed more interested in Eliot than in Margo, but only kind of? And Eliot didn’t know what he was doing.

Like, at all.

The fucking part, sure. He had a working theory for how to gradually acclimate Quentin to touching a guy to the point where they could progress past hands and mouths to more active endeavors, should such even be necessary. It didn’t _seem_ like it was with Quentin, though?

Like… most heteroflexible guys didn’t really count it as sex until there was penetration, but Q was so blessedly pure in so many ways that he seemed to think Eliot blowing him once had meant anything to anyone who heard about it. Like it was some clear line of demarcation between “in” and “out.”

And he’d snuggled back up to Eliot right in front of Alice, which… He’d been blasted at the time, just absolutely slizzard, but that had to mean something right?

So maybe the goal wasn’t to fuck Quentin or get Quentin to fuck him. Maybe that was going about it all wrong.

But if it _was,_ then Eliot had no roadmap. He didn’t know how to get from fake boyfriends to real boyfriends or what that would even signify.

He stared at himself critically in the mirror, forming a ringlet around two fingers, and then emerged from the bathroom to find Quentin already ready and clearly much less image obsessed.

“All right. Let’s go.” Eliot held out his hand to Quentin, giving him his best devil-may-care grin, and projected mild enthusiasm, like today didn’t feel absolutely make-or-break for the rest of Eliot’s entire foreseeable future.

Quentin had put on what must’ve been the skinny jeans he’d claimed to have, which Eliot didn’t remember him ever actually wearing. So probably he hadn’t before this. He wore a dark check button up, sleeves rolled up and a surprising number of buttons left undone.

Was it perfect? No. But he’d tried, and it was actually very sweet.

His hair was pulled back in a little bun, and he looked ready for adventure. Taking Eliot’s hand, Quentin followed where he led. “I guess probably linen is better for this climate. I didn’t really have any, but this is cotton so I thought it would be good?”

“Full marks for effort,” Eliot agreed, warmed a bit by Quentin’s words. Maybe he didn’t think Eliot was a complete overbearing jerk. “And you look very handsome, baby Q.”

They headed into the main lobby and the concierge desk, where Eliot picked up his keys, and then they exited the hotel area. As they strolled across the lawn toward the parking area, Eliot subtly jerked his chin at a former conquest and murmured, “Better act like a boyfriend, Q, before Jeff comes over here and tries to steal me away.”

It was mostly a game. Jeff didn’t really seem heartbroken to see Eliot with another guy, and Quentin wasn’t the most intimidating, but Eliot wanted to see what Quentin thought boyfriends were supposed to act like.

“Oh, um.” Quentin scooted closer, wrapped an arm around Eliot’s waist, and glared at Jeff, keeping his eyes on the man as he held Eliot possessively against his side.

Jeff looked back in surprise, taking them in warily. He met Eliot’s gaze with confusion, then moved as far away from them as he could get in the parking area. Eliot gave him a sassy little wave and then kissed Quentin’s hair, pleased with the situation. He’d never really gone in for boyfriends, and generally he’d solved all his love triangles with threesomes, but there was something about Quentin.

“Very alpha male,’ Eliot whispered approvingly, snuggling Quentin a little more than was necessary. And really, it wasn’t necessary at all because Jeff wasn’t even in eyesight, but Eliot had always been given to excess.

Then Eliot spotted the car waiting for them and pointed with studied grace, as if it was no big deal at all that they’d be driving a 1939 Lagonda V-12 Rapide convertible in coral and cream. Eliot had wanted their flashiest vintage ride, and this did not disappoint. It wasn’t that Eliot loved cars—he had some major father-plus-older-brothers mechanical trauma—but a vintage sports car was so stylish it kind of made him hard.

They were living the fantasy today.

He held up the keys and jingled them demonstratively before walking to the passenger seat and opening the door for Quentin because a gentleman did things like that for his date, even if Quentin probably didn’t realize this _was_ a date.

It was definitely a date, though.

“Wow, what is this car? Is it magic? Oh is it like the flying Ford Anglia?” Quentin hopped in and looked at the instrumentation and ran his hands over it.

Thank god Margo made Eliot watch those damn _Harry Potter_ movies, or he might not understand what Quentin was talking about half the time.

“It’s a Lagonda, and its magic is in its beauty.” Eliot climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. It took a moment to fire up, but it _was_ almost a hundred years old. As the powerful engine roared to life, Eliot felt another pang of arousal and looked to Quentin, raising a brow. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes. It is beautiful.” Quentin appeared to be looking for seatbelts and then stopped. “Right, probably no seatbelts. This looks exactly like the kind of car I would’ve thought you’d have when I first saw you. So where are we going, exactly?”

“That remains a surprise,” Eliot answered, pleased with Quentin’s assessment.

Reversing carefully, he maneuvered out of the lot and took them onto the open road. The wind ruffled their hair and drowned out any attempt at conversation, but Eliot didn’t care. It was a small island, only an hour’s drive from one end to the other.

So he held Quentin’s hand between shifting gears, grinning at him sidelong as the sunshine beat down on them. Hope flared in his heart. This was good. This was exactly the kind of thing he _should_ be doing to win Quentin over. Just a glance told him that much.

It was only perhaps a twenty-minute drive from Encanto to Es Portixol—or at least, as close as a car could get to Es Portixol. They drove through a town, then through a residential neighborhood, and then finally parked at the edge of the pavement. Looking to Quentin, he said, “Now we walk.”

Eliot gathered a concierge-prepared picnic basket from the trunk, tucked the Lagonda’s keys in his pocket, and offered Quentin his hand to hold.

“A picnic?” Quentin seemed pretty excited about it, which seemed very Quentin. “Or is that packed with sex toys?” He grinned mischievously as they undertook the cliffside hike along the coast.

The trail was dusty and marked off from the cliff’s edge with a long wire fence. The well-worn path wound through beautiful pines and striated rock faces. The sea was a deep blue at their right before the the trail led further inland.

As they walked, Quentin tapped the basket. “Is there any water in there?”

“There’s _everything_ in here,” Eliot replied, hoping it was true. The concierge had never let him down, but there was a first time for everything. Pausing and rifling through the basket, careful not to let Quentin peek inside, Eliot withdraw a water bottle and held it out to him. “It’s only about a thirty-minute walk. Think you’ll survive? I assume so, because I intend to, and I’m a lush who smokes, not a healthy young whippersnapper like yourself.”

“Yeah, I just want to stay hydrated. I only had coffee this morning. You should drink water, too. It’s good for you.” Quentin uncapped the water and took a sip. In that moment, Eliot had a vision of Quentin as a Boy Scout, adorable in his little uniform, carrying around a canteen.

He seemed to enjoy the walk, pointing out trees that he knew the names of, birds who fluttered by. In some ways, it was like walking with a Wikipedia, but it was also so adorably Quentin, who probably _had_ looked all this shit up before coming in the off chance he felt like he had to make conversation.

Or he was an amateur geologist, which seemed unlikely.

But he probably would make the best troop leader.

They entered a small forested area. Trees overhead gave them some shade as Quentin shared his water with Eliot and lizards scampered away from their path.

Then the trail opened onto the cove that was their destination. The water glowed a twinkling turquoise. A few fishing huts peppered the pebble beach that was otherwise empty.

“You weren’t kidding about it being just us. Unless there’s a magical rave in one of those fishing huts.” Quentin beamed, seeming pretty sure that wasn’t going to be true. For one, Eliot hadn’t dressed for it. And really that was probably the only reason Quentin needed. He was a clever boy.

“Well, you seemed to want something more…intimate,” Eliot purred, giving Quentin a lascivious look just because he could.

Quentin eyed him speculatively and then gave a little shrug. “Who am I making jealous out here, then? Did you hook up with the fishermen?”

That brought Eliot up short. He dug deep and rallied as best he could, proud he sounded unbothered. “No fisherman former lovers. Just us, doing whatever we want to do.”

Maybe _that_ was why Quentin had seemed so elated to be away from other people: Not because he wanted to spend time alone with Eliot, but because he didn’t want the burden of pretending to want him.

He dropped the apparently clumsy effort at flirting, though, and went full steam ahead for the cove.

This beach was unusual in Ibiza for being so isolated, but also because the shoreline was made up of small rocks instead of sand, which interfered with most beachgoers’ desire for pristine sand to lay out on or wade in. Here, shoes were necessary even for wading, and the ground wasn’t soft and smooth to lay on, which meant it was known to few.

Eliot refused to be entirely discouraged as he thought of the date he’d planned for them. Maybe Quentin wasn’t going to take the bait and banter, but he’d appreciate this picnic. So what if he didn’t see Eliot in a romantic light right now? Eliot hadn’t even brought out the big guns yet.

_Prepare to be blown away, Quentin Coldwater._

As they arrived at the center of the pebble beach, Eliot worked a quick tut over the picnic basket, which set up an avoidance ward that would keep them from being looked at, listened to, or otherwise disturbed. Then he reached into a side flap of the basket, withdrew a small roll of fabric, and activated it with a sigil before setting it on the pebbles.

Eliot shot Quentin a sly smile and watched him as the little roll of fabric unfurled and rolled out toward the water, almost the same coral color as the Lagonda. It hit the waterline and kept unfurling, parting the water magically as it rolled down the seabed. As it rolled, Eliot picked up the picnic basket, offered his elbow to Quentin to escort him, and started down the coral carpet into the sea.

“I’ve never been on a coral carpet before.” Quentin appeared delighted as he peered at the parted water while they walked through it. “Very Moses.”

He bumped his shoulder with Eliot’s arm and grinned. “Tell me I’m going to meet a merman to make jealous.”

Then he paused and made a face. “Scratch that. I don’t want to think about you fucking a fish. Half fish. Whatever. I’m making this weird. I’m going to stop talking.”

Laughing, Eliot leaned over and kissed Quentin’s cheek. “You’re adorable. Never stop.”

As they strolled deeper, fish darted through the crystalline waters on either side of them, and then, when the water was well over their heads, it began to close in just a little so that fish swam overhead too, close enough they could extend their arms through the water walls and touch them if they wanted. The sun filtered down to them through the turquoise waves, wavering and patchy, throwing little shadows over them as they continued to follow the coral path down the seabed.

Then, when they were surrounded by water save for their path out, the carpet reached its end. Eliot reclaimed his elbow from Quentin to work another tut over the picnic basket, which expanded the space around them, pushing out the water walls to the size of a dining room. Above them, a portion of the sunlit water shaped itself into a gorgeous, still-flowing chandelier made of liquid instead of crystals. The basket itself began to unfold, becoming a beautiful table with two chairs and an impressive picnic spread.

Eliot opened the wine immediately and smiled to Quentin. “Join me for lunch?”

Quentin grinned but then paused, a strange look on his face. “This isn’t going to end in you telling me I have to suck a horse cock, is it? Or am I the Margo? I’m the Margo? I tell someone _else_ to suck the horse cock.”

Quentin made himself at home in one of the chairs, seeming to accept whatever fate he thought he was in for by joining Eliot. “It’s really pretty.”

Eliot laughed and poured Quentin a glass of wine. “The only horse cock you’ll have to deal with is mine, I assure you,” Eliot teased as he set the glass in front of Quentin’s place setting and then took a seat with his own glass. He set the bottle nearby to keep it handy, just in case, and then gestured around them. “Encanto’s amazing, but I thought maybe this might be a welcome change of pace from the constant partying.”

As he smiled at Quentin, he fed off his approval, rebuilding his fragile ego from the fodder of Quentin’s excitement. “There’s a special local menu for us, with fish stew, fresh-baked bread, and some sweet Ibizan pastry for dessert, along with fresh fruit. If you only do this once in your life, I’m going to make sure you do it right.”

Quentin seemed to pause and took that in and then smiled and picked up his wine. “That sounds really good. You really went to all this trouble just for me? I do appreciate the break. It’s really nice.”

His cheeks flushed the prettiest pink, and his beautiful puppy dog eyes crinkled with his smile. He seemed to be genuinely surprised, but also very pleased. “I used to have a lot of dreams about being able to breathe underwater. This is kinda like that.”

“Yeah?” Eliot’s chest swelled proudly, and relief rushed through him at having gotten this so right. “You know I wouldn’t bring you halfway around the world and just…expect you to do what _I_ like, don’t you?” he asked, brow furrowing. Maybe Quentin _didn’t_ know. “I’m aware I’m a self-important cock about ninety percent of the time, but I really… If there’s anything I can do to make your stay better, just say so, all right? I promise I want to know.”

Eliot sounded embarrassingly yearning by the end, his desire to make Quentin happy overwhelming him. So he drank deeply of his wine and began portioning out the fish stew to cover for it.

“I also came to try new things. Get out of my comfort zone. The pretend boyfriend thing was just an afterthought, but you’ll let me know if any of these fish start giving you the fishy-eye.” Quentin seemed delighted and a little overwhelmed. “I liked seeing more of Ibiza. Seeing more of the world makes me feel very small. But then, feeling small is kind of freeing. Like maybe the weight of the world isn’t on my shoulders, and maybe I don’t have to labor so much about everything I do.”

He paused and took a few bites of fish stew. He seemed to like it. “But then sometimes I just feel like the most useless person in the world. You’re good at keeping me from thinking about that too much.”

He paused again, but it looked like he had more to say as he chewed and looked around them. “Do you think it’s rude to eat fish in front of them?”

Eliot laughed and brandished a spoonful of stew. “What do you think _they_ eat?” He grinned as he sampled his own food. “They’re probably just jealous they don’t get any.” He nudged Quentin’s foot under the table, playful, and leaned in a little. “What they’re really jealous of is the wine, though.”

It was Eliot’s turn to pause, reflective. “I don’t think I could live a sober, piscine life. That’s what’s really doomed about my merman passion… It’s not the fish genitalia—I could work around that—it’s that it’s impossible to drink wine or smoke underwater.”

Quentin appeared relieved and nodded before he tucked in further to his stew. “Maybe they have delicacies and ways of getting high that we don’t know about. Maybe octopus ink is like the wine of the sea. And you could probably have at least some fun getting buzzed off electric eels. Psychedelic corals? I kinda remember a Shark Week documentary where it seemed like the shark kept putting his mouth on the cage because there was a low electrical current, and it seemed to like that. Or maybe I’m making that up. Anyway, I’m sure fish know how to have fun.”

Eliot was dubious. “Do they, Quentin? Do they _really_?”

Turning his head toward the school of fish swimming around their dining room curiously observing him, he called out, “What do you do for fun? Swim?” Then he looked to Quentin again. “I love swimming, but honestly. It seems like a _lot_ of exercise.”

After a moment’s consideration, he sipped his wine and asked, “So if we were fish, what kind of fish would I be? You watch nerd shows. You have to have some idea. And if you say clown fish, I’m going to riot.”

“I kinda wanna see you riot, so you’re a clown fish.” Quentin giggled so much that he started to squeak, which appeared to embarrass him. He picked up his glass of wine, and it seemed like it was less to drink from and more to hide behind. As if that was going to work.

“You little shit!” Eliot was so caught off-guard by the squeaky laughter that it took him a moment to work himself up to full righteous fury. Then he shoved his chair back and stood, towering over Quentin, as he flung his arms around and shouted, “This is ridiculous! I demand to see your _manager_! How dare you? Do you know who I am?”

He got down in Quentin’s face and poked his finger into Q’s chest, trying to suppress the wild urge to laugh in order to play the game. “How very dare you, sir. How _dare_ you.”

Then he plucked Quentin’s wine glass from his hand, set it aside on the table, and shoved a piece of the fresh bread in Quentin’s face, smushing it against his mouth and nose with extreme prejudice. “Take that, you disrespectful _llama._ ” Then, rising in volume again, he shrieked, “Clown fish? _Clown fish?_ I am Eliot Waugh, reigning titan of the Brakebills party scene, and I am a _motherfucking pretty shark_. You don’t know what a pretty shark is? _Neither do I!_ I just made it up to describe myself because nothing in nature compares with my majesty.”

He left the bread shoved into Quentin’s mouth, sat down all calm and collected again, and sipped his wine. Motioning toward Q, he said, “You should eat that. If you waste it, I’m going to riot.”

Quentin’s eyes glimmered, which was the only warning Eliot had before Quentin turned his head and spit out the bread. “Come at me, _clown fish_.”

This time he did a better job of keeping a straight face, but clearly only by the skin of his teeth because his eyes were watering with the force of keeping it in.

Q really had no idea what he was in for. Eliot had brought the house down as Jean Valjean in his high school’s production of _Les Miserables_ , and he motherfucking knew how to bring the energy.

He sprang from his chair, wine glass in hand, dramatically polished it off and dragged his fist across his wet mouth. “ _You dare defy me, Coldwater?_ ”

It was honestly kind of kinky. Eliot wasn’t going to _admit_ it, but this peak ridiculousness kind of did it for him.

Eliot pounced on Quentin, knocking his chair to the ground. Its impact was magically cushioned by the enchantment that controlled this space, perfectly safe, but it _felt_ intense. Scrambling a little, Eliot pinned Quentin to the coral carpet and glared down at him, all narrowed gaze and bared teeth, like he wasn’t just fucking thriving right now.

“You will rue the day you crossed me! Now who’s the clown fish?”

Quentin’s eyes widened as he looked up at Eliot, his lips parted, and his breath fluttered. Surprisingly, his pupils also dilated even as he brought his hands up between them.

The way that he stared up at Eliot showed he was just as surprised by his arousal as anyone, and Eliot instantly regretted telling Quentin to confront Penny back at school. Though obviously they didn’t end up in this position.

Quentin reached up and stroked the side of Eliot’s face, then his hand moved around to Eliot’s nape to pull him down for a kiss. Eliot’s heart triphammered, and his head swam, and he was so dizzy he couldn’t think as their lips met. He kissed Quentin roughly, overexcited, nothing like the soft, careful kisses he’d been giving him since Quentin’s birthday.

Everything smelled salty and green, and Quentin tasted like wine and spices, and Eliot just _wanted_. He wanted Quentin so badly his brain was shorting out, and all he could do was grind against Quentin’s leg and thrust his tongue hungrily into Quentin’s mouth. He growled as he kissed him, drunk on the moment and a little bit on the glass of wine he’d just polished off, but it was mostly just Quentin, awkward and goofy as he was, and his inexplicably arousing defiance.

It was far from Eliot’s first run-in with the bratty sub type of lover, but usually that seemed like too much work, too much trouble to be worth it, and the games were more annoying than stimulating. This, though…

Quentin was so fucking _cute_. Eliot just wanted to devour him whole, to tear off his skinny jeans and fuck him through the seafloor.

He reached down to slide his hand between Quentin’s thighs, curving his palm over Quentin’s bulge, and _squeezed._ Biting at Quentin’s bottom lip, Eliot dragged in a deep breath and rasped, “You’re in for it now, baby Q.”

Quentin let out a little choked moan. His gaze was confused as he looked up at Eliot, and maybe that was another difference. This wasn’t _calculated._ He didn’t even seem to be aware that he’d be aroused by this.

He tilted his hips forward into Eliot’s touch. “What am I in for?”

Eliot smiled, genuinely amused and pleased and just… _So_ fucking smitten. He didn’t know what to do with himself except kiss Quentin again.

As they kissed, Eliot unfastened Quentin’s jeans one handed and worked his fingertips under Quentin’s underwear, reaching for his cock and wrestling it free of its confines. Breathing hard, Eliot curled his fingers around Quentin’s solid shaft and _groaned_ at the feel of it filling his hand, at the dampness at the head.

Barely thinking, he shifted under the table, the only place there was really room for Eliot’s long body, and then started peeling Quentin’s tight jeans down to his knees and his underwear with them.

Quentin lifted his hips as Eliot pulled his pants down, helping him do it. He even helpfully toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. He sat up on his elbows, chest heaving with arousal and looking so kissable that Eliot had to kiss him again.

As Eliot overtook Quentin, he lay back on the coral carpet and wrapped his legs around Eliot’s waist. Quentin pulled Eliot’s tank top up and over his head, then slid his hands down Eliot’s back as he ground against him, moaning into the kiss.

Oh god, Eliot had no idea what to do with himself. Quentin was just _letting him do this_. Just… _letting him_ strip Quentin naked and…

Eliot gasped against Quentin’s mouth for a moment before he brought up his hand to spit on his palm and then returned his hand to Quentin’s cock, stroking it roughly and whispering, “I want to ruin you for other men.”

Like there’d ever been other men. Like Quentin cared about other men. But…maybe?

He seemed like he might be into this, like he might be into _Eliot_ , and it was too much to parse.

“Like you haven’t already?” Quentin responded, not seeming to even needing to think about it. He pulled Eliot into another rough kiss, filled with lust. He seemed to be driven by something bigger in him that responded to Eliot, and it did seem to be very much _Eliot_. There was literally no one else here.

Quentin reached between them and, with surprising deftness, untied Eliot’s drawstring pants to wrap his hand around Eliot’s cock. Eliot moaned at the touch and shivered, skin breaking out in goosebumps.

“Quentin,” he whispered, just wanting to affirm who he was with, just wanting Quentin to know this was about him, about them, that Eliot was hard for Quentin, that Eliot was this desperate for _Quentin._

Eliot fucked Quentin’s hand, thrusting down into Quentin’s grip like he was fucking Quentin’s ass. He groaned again, overcome by the thought of it, and bit at Quentin’s mouth, dragging his nails over Quentin’s skin. “I wanna be inside you,” he sighed against Quentin’s lips, barely a breath. “Just my fingers even, just…anything, Q. I want you so badly.”

“Okay.” That seemed too easy, almost _too_ eager as Quentin handled Eliot’s cock. But then it seemed to catch up with him, and he clarified, “I mean, your fingers. To see… I mean… yeah.”

Quentin seemed utterly swept up, and he hadn’t had more than a few sips of wine, so it definitely wasn’t that. He was legitimately very turned on right now—turned on by _Eliot_. That knowledge reassured Eliot in ways he couldn’t qualify or quantify, balmed his wounded ego, gave him the energy to kiss Quentin deeper before Eliot pulled away.

He worked a quick tut for the sake of Quentin’s hygiene—they’d really worked up a sweat, and Quentin wasn’t exactly expecting this interlude—and another to slick his fingers. Then he leaned in to kiss Quentin again as he slipped his warm, wet fingers behind Quentin’s balls and stroked around his entrance. It was so _soft,_ and Quentin radiated heat, and Eliot just wanted to be inside him so much that it pressed into his senses like a palpable weight, obliterating coherent thought.

“Quentin.” Eliot kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. “Quentin, Quentin.” Swallowing hard, Eliot rested his forehead against Quentin’s and rubbed one fingertip against Quentin’s opening, pressing in just a little, testing and teasing.

Quentin’s breath caught. His eyes were wide as he looked up at Eliot.

He was hardly the first anal virgin Eliot had encountered, and while Eliot had always made sure it was the best experience, Quentin’s vulnerability cut Eliot to the core. There was something different about it. He wasn’t an otherwise straight boy experimenting, or a closeted boy who felt safe for once.

Quentin didn’t seem to view Eliot as a test. He was opening himself up to Eliot.

He clutched Eliot’s back, seeming more out of nerves than pain. “Eliot.”

His name on Quentin’s lips, how he gazed so needily at Eliot, was almost overwhelming.

Quentin skimmed his hands down to squeeze Eliot’s ass as he repeated Eliot’s name, and it was so _personal._ Suddenly he didn’t doubt Quentin wanted this with him and only him. Q wouldn’t trust anyone else to touch him like this. That made so much difference.

“It’s okay, baby boy. I’ve got you.” Eliot slipped his forearm under Quentin’s neck, bracing himself on his elbow while embracing Quentin. He kissed him again and again, slippery fingertip teasing Quentin’s entrance without pressing inside yet. “You’re so beautiful, Q. I’m going to take such good care of you. I’ll make you feel fucking fantastic, I promise.”

Then, gently, Eliot eased his finger past Quentin’s defenses, pushing in slow and steady and whispering, “Push into the pressure, Q. Just like that. Just take it a little at a time. Just a little more. So good, Q. Such a good boy. There you go. You feel so good inside.”

Eliot’s words devolved into raspy breaths, his cock so hard it ached, and he pressed closer to Quentin, wanting to feel him everywhere, wanting to be more connected. “So good,” he repeated, blanking on anything else, his overpowering crush on Quentin rendering him absolutely stupid.

Quentin arched his back. It was a little dramatic, but probably the first time anyone had touched him this way. His body didn’t seem to know how to react, so he probably hadn’t even done this to himself. This was probably the first time anything had ever been inside Quentin Coldwater, and he’d trusted Eliot with it.

“Eliot,” Quentin whined, his brow damp with perspiration at the concentrated effort to let Eliot in. “Kiss me, please?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, gonna kiss you,” Eliot answered, smiling at Quentin for a moment, basking in the sheer bliss. Then he caressed their lips together tenderly, working his finger slowly into Quentin as he licked into his mouth.

Quentin was so desperate for that kiss, so needy and sweet, and Eliot poured his heart into it, wanting Quentin to feel Eliot’s affection, the intensity of his desire, how fucking much he cared. Quentin responded like no one else ever had, pressing closer, arching into Eliot like he couldn’t bear the feeling of air on his skin, like he wanted to merge into Eliot’s body completely. It only spurred Eliot on, made him sweat, made his skin tingle all over with anticipation.

This was happening, and it was real, and it was beautiful, and Quentin was so fucking special, and Eliot just wanted Quentin to _know_ , to share Eliot’s certainty that there could be something amazing between them if they just figured out how to be more to each other.

Words tried to spill from Eliot’s mouth, _serious_ words, words Eliot had no intention of saying, and he kissed Quentin harder to shut himself up. This was enough. This was perfect. Eliot wasn’t thinking clearly right now, and he wasn’t going to cock everything up by talking.

Quentin moved against him, shifting until he was comfortable, at least, until Eliot gave the barest touch to that spot inside of him. Only one finger, brushing casually, but Quentin squirmed against it, breaking the kiss to whisper Eliot’s name against his lips.

“What is… What’s that? Is it… It should be… Oh god, Eliot.” As he clung with one arm around Eliot, his other hand moved between them to touch Eliot’s cock, wrapping around it as if he needed it. He was so soft and needy, seeming dependent on Eliot for everything.

If it had been anyone else, this would’ve been unbearable. Cloying. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was _Quentin_ , and he’d never done this, and everything was so new to him, and he was giving it all to _Eliot._

“You like it that way?” Eliot asked quietly, kissing Quentin’s forehead and breathing him in. “You’re so sensitive.”

He touched Quentin’s prostate more purposefully, adding a second finger and rubbing the pads of his fingers over that spot, around it, testing Quentin’s tolerance. Words bubbled up again, and he didn’t have the willpower to hold them back. “You feel so fucking good, Q. Your hand, your body… You’re so sexy. I know you don’t see it, you don’t understand, but trust me, Q. Trust me, you turn me on. So much. I like you _so_ much.”

“God you turn me on so much, Eliot.” Quentin twisted against him, rubbing harder on his fingertips as he clung to Eliot, touching his cock, pulling it with the way that he moved, seeming to grind against Eliot’s fingers, brows furrowed, tongue between his lips as he undulated. He was so ready, so ripe to be taken. “You really like me? You really want me?”

Those were the question that Eliot loved to hear. Especially the want question. Those other guys, he’d wanted them, yes. And liked them for a value of the word. But having this like and want all together was almost overwhelming. There was an urgency to be inside of Quentin, to claim him, to make Quentin his in some way that they couldn’t take back.

“Yeah,” Eliot said, embarrassingly breathy. “Yeah, I _really_ like you, Q. I want you. I want…everything. All of you. I want… I want to be the first guy you’re with. I want to be the _only_ guy you’re with. I—”

That was too much, confessing too much, laying his guts bare, and Eliot struggled not to run for the hills, not to avoid this intimacy. He shivered, went still, and pressed his face into Quentin’s neck to hide.

“Don’t listen to me,” he pleaded, at once dead serious and self-mocking, flippant. “I’m drunk.” He’d had _one_ glass of wine. “I’m— I should shut up.”

Quentin kissed him tenderly, still fucking Eliot’s fingers as he slid a third into him. Q seemed to enjoy it, but it was a little difficult for him. Eliot could feel Quentin’s body flexing around the invasion, pushing against him, struggling.

“I want to listen to you, Eliot. Please. Just tell me this isn’t… tell me you want to at least try with me. Tell me this is real. I want you so much.”

Eliot’s chest suddenly felt very tight, and he closed his eyes for a moment to hold back a wild swell of feelings. “You… What are you asking, Q?”

Quentin groaned as Eliot teased his prostate, his cheeks flushed as he tried to hold Eliot’s gaze. “Tell me this isn’t just you wanting to fuck me. Tell me that you want to… want to see what we could be together. Tell me that I’m not just… temporary.”

“Q, I—” Eliot licked his lips, heart pounding, and asked as casually as he could, “You do know this is a date, right? I took you on a date.”

“Yeah? Quentin kissed him again, squirming on Eliot’s fingers, seeming to need him. “This is a date for me? Like… you want to be… closer?”

“No, I’m trying to drive you away with my fabulous date-planning skills. _Yes_ , I want to be closer.” Taking Quentin’s lips in small, deliberate nips, Eliot twisted his fingers and crooked them just so, caressing that spot inside Q, stretching him deliberately. “We’re _dating_ , Q. We’re on a vacation together. I’m taking you on a cruise, remember? We’re boyfriends. This has all been part of my elaborate plan to woo you.”

“We are? But Margo…” Quentin closed his eyes again as Eliot hit that spot even harder. All Quentin could do was writhe in response. He pulled Eliot close, reaching down to push Eliot’s fingers out of him and moved Eliot’s cock in place. He pulled his legs up, knees pointing to the sky, opening to Eliot.

In that moment, Quentin looked as sweet and needy and vulnerable as he ever had. The way that he looked at Eliot, so tender and trusting, such complete adoration...

“Boyfriends,” Quentin finally agreed, offering himself to Eliot.

“Wait, wait,” Eliot muttered, extending his telekinesis toward the stash of supplies. He pulled a condom to him and held it up in front of Quentin demonstratively. “Safety first, baby Q. Also...”

Eliot hesitated, not wanting to lose the moment, but then he leaned back in to kiss Quentin and whispered against his lips, “I want this to be perfect for you. If I do this now, it’s gonna hurt.”

Looking into Quentin’s eyes, he asked, “Unless you just want it rough? That’s good too, but I wanna give you what _you_ want, Q. I don’t mind taking my time, really relaxing you first…”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t think I want it rough. Do what you think is best.” Quentin’s brow furrowed.

And of course he wouldn’t have a preference, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Quentin was _so_ sensitive.

Besides, Eliot really wanted to spoil him.

“Okay, then just relax,” Eliot said softly, kissing Quentin again, slow and sweet as dripping honey. Then he worked his way down Quentin’s body a little at a time, lavishing his throat and collarbones with tiny nibbles and nuzzles. Reaching Quentin’s nipples, he suckled the tiny buds until they were hard against his tongue and then bit them gently one after the other, making Quentin writhe and gasp.

As Quentin squirmed, Eliot slid three fingers back into him slow and steady. Quentin groaned and clenched around the invasion, sweat breaking out on his skin, and Eliot murmured encouraging nonsense as he kissed lower and lower to rub his cheek against Quentin’s cock. “You are so beautiful, Q. So… I’ve wanted this since I saw you.”

Then, to shut himself up, he slid his mouth over Quentin’s satiny head and tongued the sticky slit as he fucked Quentin on his fingers. He loved the way Quentin whined and bucked, so overwhelmed by sensation, by Eliot, like he’d never felt anything like it. And Quentin was gorgeous like this, flushed from his ears to his chest, head tipped back to glory in the moment.

Eliot’s cock throbbed in anticipation as he sucked Quentin deeper, so turned on just by having Quentin in his mouth, his fingers inside him, his crush finally coming true, and… God, they were _boyfriends_ , and Eliot had just stumbled into it. _Quentin_ had nudged him into it, like it was really Eliot he wanted, like…

Groaning around Quentin’s erection, Eliot gazed up at him, holding Quentin’s hungry stare, trying to communicate what this meant to him. The words were too much; Eliot couldn’t just _say_ it, but Quentin needed to know.

Quentin gazed down at Eliot, gasping for breath as he moved between Eliot’s fingers and mouth like he couldn’t control himself. The look in Quentin’s big puppy eyes, sweetness warmed by lust, had to be the sexiest thing Eliot had ever experienced.

Q dug his fingers into the carpet, legs splayed wide open. For a high-strung nerd, he was surprisingly bendy.

“Fuck, Eliot. Fuck.” He sounded so raw, almost incoherent, as he repeated Eliot’s name. Quentin knew exactly who was doing this to him, and who he wanted. Eliot could hardly wrap his head around it, so he just went with it, just let one moment surge into the next, his consciousness carried on a swell of need.

Eliot lifted his head from Quentin’s cock and pulled his fingers free before rolling Quentin over. “On your belly. Knees under you, ass up. Get comfy.”

He steered Quentin into position, hands gliding over Quentin’s rosy skin. It was mindblowing to watch shy, modest Q present himself like that, so eager for contact he couldn’t be bothered with something like shame.

Eliot smacked Quentin’s ass, leaving a pink palmprint behind, and then gripped Quentin’s cheeks in both hands and massaged them, working the muscles until they relaxed, chasing the tension up the small of Quentin’s back and down into his thighs. As he kneaded Quentin’s muscles, he leaned in and nuzzled his cleft, kissing softly between Quentin’s cheeks and murmuring, “God you’re beautiful. Every part of you is so precious and perfect. I’m going to take such good care of you. You’re going to feel so good, baby Q. So fucking good.”

The _sound_ Quentin made as Eliot kissed his hole was just… Eliot _felt_ that in his core, a sudden rush of lust that tightened his balls and made his whole body flinch with want.

Groaning, Eliot lapped greedily at Quentin’s opening as he massaged Quentin’s cheeks, his lower back, his upper thighs. He pressed his chin against Quentin’s perineum, pushing his face closer, nestling in and licking him out just to feel him open up, just to hear the shocked, desperate sounds that spilled from him like he couldn’t believe Eliot would do this to him.

Quentin’s sweet little virgin hole flexed and shied at the pressure of Eliot’s tongue, and it just stoked the fire in Eliot’s chest, just made him more determined to give Quentin everything, to make him feel so good he lost his goddamn mind. He tonguefucked Quentin, slow and tender, kissing his opening all soft and wet, grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth just a little, just now and again, to keep Quentin engaged.

Quentin had folded his arms on the carpet and hidden his face in the crook of his elbow. It did little to muffle his exultant sounds or the whine he made when he pulled away when things got too intense. But always he would press his ass back against Eliot, greedy for more.

The magic of Quentin Coldwater was that though he could be shy and reserved, once he gave himself over to something, he gave himself completely. Today it was Eliot’s turn.

This was hardly the first person to fall for Eliot, but it _did_ feel like the first time Eliot wasn’t completely unnerved by it. Eliot had had crushes before, situational things that usually resolved themselves after the first blowjob.

Maybe it really was written in the stars because his feelings for Quentin had only increased since that night. And now, having him here like this, Eliot could hardly wait to be part of Quentin, to carve out a space for himself deep inside him.

He was so precious, so yielding, and Eliot _ached_ for more, to be as close as they could get. He wanted to take Quentin in his arms and hold him as they moved together, to kiss him and gaze into his eyes.

It was sickeningly romantic, and Eliot craved it in a way he’d never needed just sex. This was _Quentin_ , and he wanted more, more than he could articulate or admit.

Lifting his head finally, Eliot slid one hand up Quentin’s spine to his nape, massaging there beneath his rumpled hair, and he licked his lips. “I can’t wait, Q. I need you.” Leaning over Quentin’s body, Eliot kissed his way up his back, working his fingers back into him, finding him relaxed and ready, his opening clasping at Eliot’s fingers like a hungry little mouth.

Quentin looked over his shoulder to Eliot, his lips reddened from kissing and slightly parted. He gazed at Eliot in that heartbreakingly sweet way he had, the way that made Eliot feel fluttery inside, that made him feel _loved_.

Such earnest trust and concern, that beautiful _care_ Quentin radiated. It touched something inside Eliot that had felt withered with neglect, a part of him he’d only allowed Bambi access to. Perhaps it was her love giving him the ability to extend himself to this goofy first year who was both nothing special and everything amazing in the world at the same time.

“I need you too,” Quentin said, canting his hips nervously.

Eliot knelt back and opened the condom packet with hands made steady by will. Looking at Quentin spread out like that, watching him like that… It was surreal even without the sunlit turquoise waters glimmering around them, even without the colorful schools of fish swimming by curiously.

How was this even Eliot’s life? It was a long fucking way from Indiana.

Eliot rolled the condom down his shaft with expert attention, pinching the end just so and then working a lubrication spell over it. His whole body clenched with excitement, and he had to fight to keep his breathing steady. Whatever was taking place here between them, whatever unacknowledged emotions were manifesting, it was momentous, and Eliot couldn’t think too hard about it or he’d run.

He couldn’t run though, not from this. Not with Quentin’s lovely little hole winking at him, stretched and so ready, all but begging for his cock. Not with those big brown puppy eyes trained on him, rapt.

Aligning himself with Quentin’s body, Eliot gripped his base and teased Quentin’s opening with just the slippery tip, pressing in just enough to be really felt before easing back. He exhaled deeply at the effort of reining himself in. “Jesus, Q. You ready, baby?”

Quentin hissed through his teeth, fists clenched in the carpet. He was tense, nervous but expectant. “Yeah. I’m ready. I think.”

He really was so delicious. Brave, willing to do this with Eliot when he hadn’t even realized this was a date coming here. Wanting this with Eliot, not as one-off or some kink, but because, apparently, he really, really liked Eliot.

But no, Eliot couldn’t think too deeply on that right now. It might overwhelm him, and he needed to be as emotionally engaged as he could. Q deserved that, deserved Eliot’s best, his most focused self.

“Relax, Q,” Eliot said, knowing it was probably pointless, that Quentin didn’t know _how_ to relax, even having been massaged and having his ass eaten.

Then a thought occurred to him, and he rolled Quentin over onto his back to look up at Eliot. Missionary wasn’t Eliot’s usual go-to, and it wasn’t the easiest way to take a cock the size of Eliot’s, but he had a feeling Quentin needed the romance, the connection.

“Hey,” he whispered, gazing down at Quentin, smiling like an idiot at the way Q met his gaze. He reached down and stroked Quentin’s cock a few times, reminding him this would feel good, that it wasn’t all scary.

With a deep breath, he positioned himself between Quentin’s thighs and then leaned in for a slow, deep kiss. Quentin’s mouth opened under his, needy and worried and so eager to be taken, to be given this affection. Eliot licked out Quentin’s mouth as he rocked his hips forward, as Quentin slipped his arms around Eliot and clung. He didn’t enter him, not yet, but he pushed gently against him, letting Quentin feel him there.

“Like this, yeah?” Eliot asked between kisses. “Close. Where you can hold me. That’s what you need to relax, isn’t it? You’re my sweet, high-strung boy. It’s okay to ask for what you need, baby Q. I’m your boyfriend now.”

Quentin wrapped his legs around Eliot’s waist. “I wasn’t sure if… if that was better or…” He pulled Eliot closer and kissed him again. “I’m ready. I promise. Ready as I’m going to be.”

Eliot moved into Quentin, teasing him with the tip. Quentin tensed, went rigid, and Eliot murmured, “Breathe, Q.”

Once Quentin exhaled slowly, Eliot shifted deeper, which again made Quentin tense again. He was so hot and tight around Eliot’s cockhead. Quentin took a few more deep breaths, his face red and forehead dotted with perspiration. He twisted his head to the side as Eliot thrust again, sliding in with excruciating slowness.

“You’re so good,” Eliot crooned, kissing Quentin’s jaw, his hair, his neck. “So beautiful, Quentin. So perfect. Just keep breathing, yeah? Just keep breathing, and push into the pressure, and let me inside. That’s all I want, Q. I just want to be inside of you.”

Quentin’s body yielded little by little, letting Eliot take him more deeply. Once Eliot’s cock was deep enough he could release his grip on the base, he wrapped his forearm under Quentin’s neck, propping himself on his elbow delicately as he nuzzled Quentin’s throat and reached for Q’s cock with his other hand. “Just breathe with me. We’re in this together, Q. It’s just us here, just us, and you’re so good. You’re all I want. You feel amazing, baby boy. Just want to make you feel good too.”

Holding Eliot tight, Quentin sank short nails into Eliot’s back when the pressure grew too intense and he needed Eliot to stop. “It doesn’t hurt as much as… I just can’t move.”

Which made sense, because Quentin was very tense, but as he relaxed, he slid his hands up and down Eliot’s back, kissing back as he could. “Just feels really… full. But not… painful.”

It seemed like Quentin was enjoying it, too, judging by the fullness of his cock in Eliot’s hand, even if he struggled to take it all. Then Quentin groaned loudly, the resistance giving way, and Eliot finally slid home.

Quentin clutched Eliot with his arms and legs, clinging whole-heartedly as he kissed the crook of Eliot’s neck. He hid his face in it as he shifted to get Eliot where he wanted him. “Shit. Oh my god, Eliot.”

“Yeah,” Eliot whispered, exulting in the moment, in the twitch of Quentin’s cock and the way he writhed to get more pressure on his sweet spot. “It’s good now, isn’t it? So full, so deep, like we’re connected on the most primal level.”

And they were, just impossibly close, tangled together and striving nearer moment by moment, like they could merge into a single entity. Eliot had never wanted that this way before, never like this, and it scared him as much as it turned him on.

“Quentin,” he said, voice ragged with emotion. He couldn’t find other words suddenly, couldn’t string together a sentence. Hugging Quentin closer, he exhaled shakily and pulled back slowly only to thrust deep again, building toward a rhythm. His whole body _sang_ with it, a thrill he couldn’t long sustain without going absolutely, gloriously mad.

“Quentin, Quentin, Quentin.” A soft, husky chant, wrung from Eliot’s core. “Quentin, _fuck_.”

Quentin grunted with every thrust like the wind was being knocked out of him, clinging for dear life. Or maybe he was trying to get Eliot even deeper into him. He alternated between kissing Eliot’s shoulder and biting him. His nails sank into Eliot’s skin, and then Quentin groaned again, arching his back, face hazy with arousal, dewy with perspiration, lips bright pink from all the kissing.

It made him look so young in some ways, so sweet, but thoroughly debauched. This was beyond any of Eliot’s dreams. He was so _into_ it, and Eliot could hardly believe it as Q’s cock hardened in Eliot’s grasp as Quentin repeated Eliot’s name, punctuated by curse words.

Being fucked brought out something primal in Quentin. He was passionate in his need, how he ground against Eliot, urging him a little rougher, unsealing something in Eliot that had kept him restrained. Eliot quit worrying about hurting him—Quentin seemed utterly beyond that—and focused instead on meeting Q’s increasingly greedy demands.

If Eliot had thought it was good before…

Quentin moved against him like a man possessed, arching closer and making needy little sounds that completely undid Eliot. He thrust into Quentin harder, and Quentin just _took it_ like he was born to do it.

“God, Q,” Eliot marveled, staring at Quentin’s blissed-out face in awe. “You’re just— _Q.”_ He couldn’t think, couldn’t formulate words, and he kissed Quentin in a hot, slick tangle of tongues as he fucked him faster, angling his hips to meet Quentin’s writhing. 

Triumph surged through Eliot at the idea that Quentin was his, his boyfriend, his friend, his cute little first year. “Mine, mine, mine,” he whispered, kissing the words into Quentin’s skin, taking him with force and glorying in the way Quentin just gave and gave and _gave_.

“Yes,” Quentin hissed, running his hands over Eliot as they moved together. He more than took Eliot; he was actively grinding on his dick, struggling to get him as deep as he could. The noises he made… God, how hard his cock was, how totally _into_ this Quentin was…

“God. Eliot, _Eliot_ …” Quentin whimpered, looking down at Eliot claiming his body. At the sheer _need_ in his voice and face, Eliot met Quentin’s lips, tasting him again, swept away by the passion of Quentin’s kiss, how he nipped at Eliot’s lips, how he cupped Eliot’s face until he groaned again and pressed his forehead to Eliot’s shoulder.

Acting on instinct, Eliot rolled them over onto their sides, slipping out and manhandling Quentin roughly to the edge of the luxurious coral carpet, right up against the wall of water. Then he turned onto his back and brought Quentin up on top of him, gazing up at him with a smile equal parts lust and tenderness.

Eliot reached for Quentin’s hip, braced his cock with his other hand, and helped Quentin adjust to the new angle. With gravity’s help a little finesse, Quentin sank to the root of Eliot’s cock, all the way until Quentin sat flush against him and rocked until the pressure built up just right again. As they moved together, Eliot spat on his hand and then stroked Quentin’s cock, so hard now it was sticky with precum.

It felt so fucking good Eliot knew he couldn’t hold out much fucking longer, but Quentin looked as winded and exhilarated as Eliot felt, just as overwhelmed by how perfectly they fit, how incredible they made each other feel. It wasn’t effortless; it was better. Every ounce of effort they invested paid off in remarkable ways, in the phenomenal glide of their skin together, the way they kissed like they were starved for it.

Eliot purred against his mouth as he thrust up into him, meeting Quentin part way, giving as good as he got. “Quentin, want you to come for me, baby. Need you to come for me. Tell me what you need. Anything, Q.”

“Just… stay… like this.” Quentin put his hand on Eliot’s chest, pinning him down while Quentin rocked on him, brow furrowed with determination. He was haloed by the sea, fish swimming behind him like they were fucking in an aquarium, which they kind of were. Q reached down to tighten Eliot’s grip on his cock and then started to tremor, his face contorting with even more severe concentration.

“Eliot, Eliot, Eliot, _Eliot,_ ” Quentin repeated, looking down at him as his orgasm built. His body tightened again, but this was the clenching of Quentin’s climax.

Quentin let out a pained moan as he crumpled. His release came in long spurts, landing on Eliot’s chest as he directed Quentin’s cock that way.

Just the feeling of it, that weird, unsettling sense of being possessed and claimed by Quentin, that they were somehow sealing this deal, making it real… Eliot groaned and thrust up into Quentin fast and hard, working desperately into him as he chased his own pleasure, driven by Quentin’s sounds, by the way he looked, so raw and beautiful, laid completely bare by this experience.

It took only a few moments before Eliot’s muscles tensed and flexed, his whole body cramping and stiffening as his balls drew up. His toes fucking curled. He gasped for breath, straining closer to Quentin, struggling to keep thrusting through his climax, through the shudders and ripples of overwhelming bliss. Clutching at Quentin’s hips, he buried himself in him again and again, choking out incoherent sounds of satisfaction.

As the intensity of the sensation gentled into afterglow, Eliot almost sobbed with relief. “Quentin,” he whispered, seeking a kiss, leaning up to reach him. “Quentin, baby Q, kiss me. Oh god.”

Quentin lay gasping on Eliot’s chest, but he stopped to crawl up Eliot’s body to kiss him. Eliot scrambled to grab the base of his cock to keep the condom from slipping.

The kisses were sloppy and sweet. Quentin’s sweat dripped onto Eliot like a soft, warm rain. He put his hands on either side of Eliot’s head and pulled back to look down at him. His hair kept his face in shadow, curtaining them off from the rest of the world. “That was um… I would do that again. With my boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” Eliot smiled, a little self-conscious and entirely enchanted. He managed to slip off the condom and toss it out of the way before wrapping both arms around Quentin and hugging him. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t be into it, but you’re… I mean… That was hall of fame material. I’m inducting you. Right now. Eliot Waugh Sexual Hall of Fame.”

That seemed to embarrass as well as delight Quentin who hid his face in Eliot’s neck. “Glad I wasn’t boring. I didn’t know it would… feel that good. I always thought it was supposed to hurt or something, but I guess it’s just bad branding, because that was really amazing.”

“This may shock you, but I think you’re just a natural,” Eliot teased, kissing Quentin’s hair. “Because that was a virtuoso performance no butt virgin should even _attempt_ , and after a slightly tense start, you really went for it.” Stroking Quentin’s back, he added, “That was, without any exaggeration, one of the finest orgasms of my life.”

“Really?” Quentin made himself at home on Eliot’s chest, putting his chin on his hands to look up at him. “You’re not just saying that so I won’t have an anxiety attack each time we meet one of your conquests?”

The sweet way Quentin smiled showed that he was joking, at least mostly. But it was admittedly really great that Quentin was so into it. Then his brows furrowed. “You do mean boyfriends in that this is exclusive, right?”

“Well, I mean, if Margo wants to watch, it’s a time-honored tradition to let her watch,” Eliot said as casually as he could. “But I had presumed from some of your comments that you are, at heart, a monogamy boy. I am willing to work with that.”

“I guess I can live with her watching if it’s just us.” Quentin beamed, and Eliot was relieved.

Not that he’d mind Margo participating. She was his quasi-platonic soulmate, and he’d enjoyed it in the past, but it was a little different with Quentin. He had real feelings for Quentin, and it seemed like Margo didn’t, nor did Quentin feel entirely at ease with her. Or trying to split his attention between two people.

They could have fun with Margo, but if they tried to force something, it would feel lopsided. If Quentin wasn’t so thoughtful and tender toward Eliot’s Bambi, it might be different, but Quentin didn’t need to be getting off with Margo to care about her.

Besides, she’d backed way off. Though, Alice was pretty sexy in that high-strung nerd kind of way. Eliot could totally relate.

Eliot took a moment to perform the necessary tuts for their ablutions, cleaning them both of sweat and jizz. Then he snuggled Q again, smiling into another kiss before relaxing back against the carpet and sprawling. He trailed one finger through the wall of water, just enjoying the moment, and then splashed a little into Quentin’s face before playfully leaning up to kiss it away.

“So exclusive, but Margo can watch if she wants, because we can’t just leave her to her own devices. Although, considering some of her devices…” Eliot laughed softly and caressed Quentin’s cheek, raising a brow. “What is it? Twelve o’clock? She’s probably silicone balls deep in Alice Quinn right now.”

Quentin seemed to come up short on that, and for a moment, Eliot worried he was having buyer’s remorse, but instead he just shrugged. “Good for her.”

“We’re having much more fun,” Eliot promised, giving Quentin a soft look. “Now come sit on my lap. Let’s eat our dessert. We’ve still got a whole afternoon to ourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next POV will be Margo... <_< You can imagine what happens. Then we'll close out this wild ride with a Quentin finale. If you're reading Sound & Color, know we're going to be updating it again Soon TM.


	8. In Which Margo Seduces Alice (or Is It the Other Way Around?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While El and Q cavort on their date, Margo has a date of her own... And Alice is full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not interested in explicit Malice content, feel free to skip this chapter. If, on the other hand, you enjoy two badass bitches bonding through banging, this is for you.

The waves rolled in over the white sands, sun glowing high in the sky as Margo sipped her Sex on the Beach cocktail. She wore a large hat with her oversized, arrogant sunglasses, a little surprised to find herself having breakfast with Alice and two white Andalusian horses.

Margo had done dressage in her youth, until she decided that while she enjoyed horses and competition, she really preferred contact sports. It left her with the ability to ride, so when Alice detailed her horsey plan, Margo was able to impress her with her horse-riding prowess.

It reminded her of the trials, and she felt a twinge of guilt at how much she’d enjoyed lording it over the first years, but she didn’t think Alice brought her out here to enact revenge. It wasn’t Margo’s fault that Brakebills was shitty toward its students.

The surviving ones anyway.

Across from her, Alice was in a black bikini with her own hat and sunglasses, sipping from a straw and absentmindedly patting the gray nose of her pushy horse. Alice’s straw made a stuttery noise indicating she’d finished her drink, which made breakfast pretty much a wrap.

Margo set down her glass. “I mean, it’s a good drink, but sex on an actual beach can be tricky.”

Alice made a soft sound that was either genteel shock or quiet agreement. “Arguably one of the primary reasons our evolutionary ancestors developed civilization. Intercourse in a soft, clean bed was likely very motivating to early man.” She looked at Margo appraisingly, lips curved into a little smirk. “Or at least early woman.”

“And then corsets and the like to control early woman. But bless those boys who happened upon inventing the vibrator. Damn near made themselves obsolete.” Margo smirked back, adding a little sexual overtone to it, as if she really needed to. Vibrator was pretty suggestive. And fun.

With a breathy, awkward giggle, Alice shot Margo a sidelong glance and then looked away. Her cheeks were pink, though, and that just made her cuter. A blushing nerd was to Margo as a limping wildebeest calf was to a lioness.

“If I had any of my cocktail left, I’d drink to that,” Alice murmured, demure as she gathered their things and prepared to pack them back on her horse. “But I think we’ll have to return to the villa. No cocktails here, and I’m going to burn if I stay in this sun much longer. We aren’t all bronze goddesses.”

“We can stay if you want me to help you with your lotion. Or I can help you with that back at the villa.” Margo took a final sip of her cocktail and handed the rest to Alice. “Here, can’t bear to watch a pretty girl drinkless. Finish it up for the road. I think the horses know the way.”

“Thanks.” Alice accepted the drink with a little smile and drank it like she needed it. Then she finished putting everything away and mounted her horse.

She made a beautiful sight, perched high on a gorgeous Andalusian, blond hair fluttering around her face in the ocean breeze, her smooth, bare legs flexed in perfect form around the barrel of her horse. Margo took just a moment to admire and to thank the gods Alice had chosen to forego the muumuu today.

Though, why had she? Certainly a long swimsuit cover-up would get in the way riding horses, but a bikini wasn’t standard issue riding attire either, even in a climate this warm.

“I know I only invited you for breakfast,” Alice said, looking at Margo with her usual apparent detachment. “But if you want to stay for the day, I didn’t have other plans. We could just relax, enjoy my parents’ bottomless liquor cabinet.”

“Oh yeah? No dancing?” Margo slipped onto her horse and gave it a little pat on the neck in friendly greeting. “I don’t really have plans either. The boys took off for the day, I think. Don’t know when they’ll be back, so… I’m all yours.”

“I was thinking an active morning, a lazy afternoon, and late-night dancing,” Alice replied before clucking her tongue at her horse.

Margo squeezed her own horse’s barrel with her calves, and they started toward the villa at a leisurely pace.

Then Alice continued. “By active, I really mean swimming. The villa has this Roman-style thermal ‘bath’ in a cove underneath it. The water’s really warm, but the cove is chilly even in the summer, so it’s kind of perfect. It’s probably the most private swimming area on the island.” She glanced over at Margo for just a moment. “You in?”

“Oh, that sounds intriguing. I didn’t know there were thermal baths here, but I guess your family does love their Roman theme.” She edged her horse forward to catch up with Alice and then relaxed back to the regular pace. “And I am dressed for swimming. Kind of. At least, this suit can get wet. I was kind of hoping it would get wet.”

Margo raised a brow and smirked at Alice. “Sounds like you’ve got a whole day planned for me.”

“I like planning,” Alice replied, a little terse. She cut her gaze sideways at Margo and rolled her eyes. “If you mind, you can leave, but I don’t think you will. Besides, a thermal bath will be so relaxing after all the hard riding we’re about to do.”

Alice’s gaze went mischievous, just for a moment, and then she yelled, “Hyah!” and urged her horse into a gallop. Margo had just a moment to correct her seat and squeeze her own mount before they were surging after them. They rode at the edge of the surf, the horses’ hooves kicking up clods of wet sand and splashing water everywhere as they tore along the smooth, mostly empty beach. It was still early, and most revelers were still resting or enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

Not Margo and Alice, though.

Not that Margo even had it in her to be salty about waking up early for this.

Especially given how Alice's breasts bounced with the strides of the horse, something Margo could see better as she caught up, something that Margo suspected Alice _wanted_ her to see. So Margo looked, letting her gaze settle on them, then back up to Alice’s face slowly.

Usually Margo was a lot more subtle noticing a woman’s physique. Guys could be so aggressively annoying about their gaze that some women didn’t really like being checked out by anyone. But Alice seemed to want Margo to notice. Alice lifted her chin and arched her back just slightly, leaning into Margo’s gaze. She appeared to enjoy the attention, so Margo gave it to her.

All day plans. Getting Margo alone. Sunrise breakfast ride on the beach. This was all getting a little romantic. Was Alice trying to seduce her?

Alice’s laughter rang in Margo’s ears as they raced each other along the beach, and she sounded so free, so wild and playful. It was like this was a whole other Alice from the one Margo knew at school, and as attractive as studious, cold Alice was…

Well, if this Alice really wanted to seduce Margo, she wasn’t going to have to try very hard. Margo _had_ brought her strap-on. It was in her bag back at the villa, ready for service.

As they neared the villa, Alice reined in, decelerating from gallop to canter to trot, and Margo matched her pace until they were walking again, cooling down their mounts.

Grinning madly, Alice looked over at Margo and tossed her hair out of her flushed face. “I like riding with someone I can trust to keep up.”

“I’m always excited by a new mount.” Margo stayed beside her. The horses bonded and tidied each other like old friends once they realized they were almost back to their stable. She let them get closer so that her and Alice’s legs touched, and Margo reached out to push Alice’s hair back and stroked her finger down the center of Alice’s pale back. “Always appreciate a good ride, don’t you?”

Alice’s non-committal noise suggested that she agreed but wasn’t going to give Margo the satisfaction of responding to any obvious flirting. The _look_ she gave Margo though…

This was definitely a seduction.

Then they were ascending to the villa from the beach, a grassy series of stone steps carved into the hillside, and Alice laughed again as they bounded up the broad stairway, like all this was the most fun she could imagine having. Like she couldn’t think of a better partner in crime.

As they crested the hill, the horses tossed their heads and snorted, scenting the hilltop breezes, and Alice took a few moments to stroke her mount’s neck before leaning over it and hugging the mare.

Gazing at Margo, she said, “Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could bring them inside with us?” Then she sighed. “Not that my parents would let me. I’ve asked before.”

“Oh no, you don’t want to do that. Horses are notoriously selfish when it comes to the blankets.” Margo watched Alice pet and whisper to the horse. So after all of that fuss, Alice was a weird horse girl. Right on. Margo admittedly found it quite charming. “Also, they’ll steal your Netflix password. Don’t let their beauty fool you; they’re after your apples.”

“She can have all the apples she wants,” Alice crooned, kissing the mare’s neck and seeming content to cuddle her forever. “But it’s time for them to head back to the stable, and time for us to get in out of this blazing sunshine.”

Alice straightened and dismounted to lead the horse to the small stable area at the corner of the yard, which didn’t look like much but apparently connected magically to a significantly more impressive stable in a more spacious locale. Margo followed suit, and after giving her own mount some affection, relinquished the horses and followed Alice in through the side door of the Roman-style villa.

It didn’t look much like the other homes on the island, which intrigued Margo to an extent, but she was far more interested in the way Alice’s body looked in that little swimsuit than she was in the architecture Alice was talking about as they walked through a tiled hall and into an inner courtyard.

Trees, bushes, and several kinds of flowers flourished in the center of the building, growing under an open roof, surrounding an enormous central fountain stocked, apparently, with decorative fish. Alice took a moment to feed them some flake food from a lovely stone container at the edge of the fountain, and colorful mouths surfaced and gawped at them.

“Old magical families like mine tend to pass these things down,” Alice explained, sounding reluctant. “My parents want me to be more involved in the…social aspects of magical life, but I’m not really suited.”

She studied Margo’s expression and crossed her arms over her chest. As she hugged herself, the movement of her arms boosted her bosom impressively, not that Alice seemed particularly aware of it. After a moment, she added, “They would be glad I’m spending time with you, though. Aunt Genji has spoken well of you to them. I mean…for a value of the word. She says you’re ambitious anyway. That counts for something with them.”

“That might be the first time anyone’s told me that their parents approve of me. I don’t even know what to say. I feel dirty now.” Margo laughed and rolled her eyes. She did want an internship with Genji, but that possibility seemed so remote. Getting with Alice might change that, but probably not. It didn’t matter. Margo had made her peace with it.

She put her hand on Alice’s arm. “It is a beautiful villa, though. You made that pool sound extra inviting. You cold? We could warm up.”

They were standing in an open-air courtyard, which was as hot as most of the rest of Ibiza, but Alice just nodded and reached for Margo’s hand. She twined their fingers and gave her a little smile, just a soft curve of her pretty bare lips, and then she led Margo back into the shadows and toward a huge blue enameled door inscribed with some kind of Greco-Roman art.

Margo remembered suddenly she needed her bag, held up a finger to request Alice wait, and dashed to retrieve it. Then she rejoined Alice with the confident aura of a woman with good thrusting hips carrying a secret dildo and harness in her stylish designer handbag. Alice smiled. Alice had no idea.

As they walked through hallways hung with gilt-framed paintings, adorned with murals and decorative moldings, and little inset niches containing sculptures and decorative pottery. It was like being in a museum, but in Ibiza, where apparently you could go to the museum in your bikini, slightly tipsy, and smelling like horses and saltwater.

The hallway led to a long, curved stair carved into the cliff on which the villa sat, a slightly spooky tunnel descending into darkness. Then Alice tapped a panel on the wall, and a magical light floated up above her and guided them downward. Chilly air drifted over their skin, and Margo took it as an excuse to huddle a little closer.

Landings with mysterious doors appeared here and there, and knowing the rumors about the Quinns, Margo would be surprised if one of them didn’t lead to a legitimate sex dungeon. Alice didn’t give any sign of stopping at any of those, however, and Margo wondered if she’d maybe see them later in the week.

A girl could dream.

Eventually the stairs ended in a cavernous room—no, a cove, just as Alice had said. The thermal bath was lit with magical candles and looked fucking romantic as hell where it was carved into the rock of the cave. Fluffy white towels, bath oils, loofahs, and all the usual luxurious accouterments adorned ornate stone shelves climbing the wall, and it was clearly where Alice intended them to unwind.

However, it had nothing on the tiny private beach at the cove’s edge.

Overhead, the cavern soared into black void, and the way their steps echoed suggested it extended a long damn way. But dead ahead, black sand met gleaming green water in a crescent that carved the room in half. Gentle waves lapped at that, honestly, very goth shore. It was all extremely on-brand for Alice.

Who in Ibiza got their own private beach? Perks of being a legacy magician, probably.

When Margo returned her gaze to Alice, Alice was untying her bikini at the edge of the ornately carved and colorfully mosaiced bath. At Margo’s look, Alice shrugged. “It’s a bath.”

_I see you, girl._

A bath.

It had been a really long time since someone had really gone to the trouble to try and seduce Margo, mostly because anyone she was interested in, she’d beat to the punch. She’d thought she would be playing a longer game with Alice, but it looked like the little vixen had her own ideas.

Thoroughly delighted, Margo reached back to untie her hot pink bikini top and slipped it off, then dropped the bottoms, watching Alice watch her, cheeks beautifully flushed.

Margo stepped out of the bikini, then turned around to bend over and pick her clothes up off the floor. Now was an important moment. She walked to the edge of the bath and set her bag and clothes near the corner that seemed to be the most likely spot for them to end up.

She kicked off her high heeled sandals and followed Alice to the steps that descended into the bath. Alice indicated for Margo to go first so that Alice could help steady her as she got in.

The water was the perfect temperature, just this side of warm, but the cool air was relaxing. Though the water shimmered with oils, the steps weren’t slick, and Margo found herself very sure footed as she sank into the tub.

Once she was in, she turned around and offered her hand up to Alice, taking in the pale glow of her body, the light blush on her cheeks, her nipples hard in the chill…or perhaps she was excited for this. Margo sure as fuck was.

God, she was so perfectly curvy. Usually Margo felt pretty well-proportioned compared to a lot of women, but Jesus Herbert Walker Christ, Alice had it all going on, and Margo couldn’t help but admire.

Alice didn’t quite meet Margo’s gaze as she climbed down the steps into the bath, but once they were eye level with each other, Alice sighed and seemed to melt a little as she leaned into Margo and slipped her arm around Margo’s waist. “It’s nice here, right?”

She sounded nervous, like she wasn’t sure Margo would like it here. Like she was afraid Margo might leave.

“Better now.” Margo slipped around to face her and wrapped her arms around her neck. “I mean, it _is_ gorgeous down here, but the enjoyment of any place depends on the company. You really are a snack, Miss Alice. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that, but in case my eyefucking was too subtle...”

She grinned at Alice and laughed as the mist steamed her glasses. Margo sank into the water up to her shoulders and tugged Alice to come down with her. After a moment, Alice placed her glasses neatly on a shelf and joined Margo, submerged in the warm water.

“You like my company?” Alice asked as if she couldn’t quite believe it. She definitely wanted to, though. A little smile crossed her face. “I like yours too. You know, when you’re not actively tormenting me.”

“Torture is my love language.” Margo slipped her arms around Alice’s neck again and then slid her hands down her shoulders and took her hands. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Alice’s lips before she moved back to grin at her again. “So you know, most people who take me on a romantic horse ride on the beach and bring me back home to get into a bath with them kind of like me, too. You getting sweet on me, Alice?”

She slid her leg between Alice’s legs to let her grind on it a little, watching her face. Alice huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get needy, Margo. I just said I like your company. Conditionally.” Alice smiled though and leaned in for another kiss. Her arms went around Margo’s waist as she stepped in close, their breasts pressing together underwater, sliding and bobbing softly as the tip of Alice’s tongue teased Margo’s upper lip.

“Yeah? Guess I’d better make myself useful, huh?” She backed Alice up against the wall, near the corner by her bag. Sliding her hands down Alice’s back, Margo squeezed her ass and then reached down to pull Alice’s legs up and around her waist.

Margo ran her hands back up Alice’s inner thighs, leading with her thumbs, stopping short just to run them lightly over her labia. When Alice gasped, Margo went in to kiss her hard, fucking her mouth, tasting breakfast and alcohol and a hint of mint that Alice must’ve eaten because this was what she was hoping for.

Alice trembled and clung to Margo, uttering tiny desperate sounds like Margo was moving just so much faster than Alice had prepared for. Because Alice _had_ prepared. Alice had been aiming for this all along when she invited Margo for breakfast.

But Alice liked to plan, and she was making her moves slowly, deliberately, and she probably thought she was subtle. Margo knew this game, though. She knew her countermoves. And she knew in her core that Alice had been waiting her entire adult life for someone to make her come like Margo had yesterday.

“Margo,” Alice whispered against Margo’s cheek as they broke their kiss to breathe. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Don’t think too much.” Margo traced Alice’s labia, enjoying the breathy sounds that she made, as if no one had ever really touched her so delicately or with any idea of the sensitivity of what they were touching. “Unless you were thinking of letting me make you come again. Or about our girl gang, because I’ve already got jackets planned and everything.”

“Yes,” Alice whispered, arching closer against Margo. “Yes, make me come again.” She laughed softly, breasts jiggling. “And tell me about the jackets.”

Before Margo could, though, Alice said, “I was thinking I should return the favor, this time.”

“Oh well that’s very productive thinking. I like where that’s going.” Margo slid her thumb between Alice’s labia, sliding up and down, giving the clit a bit more attention before sliding away, but keeping the rhythm steady. “What were you thinking about, Alice? You wanna eat my pussy? Use your fingers? Fuck me with a toy? Want to see me all spread out in front of you where you can do whatever you want?”

Alice shivered and more or less squeaked, a high-pitched startled sound. Margo loved that she could make such a dignified woman sound like that. “Um…”

Trailing off, Alice squirmed closer to Margo like she was going to crawl out of her skin. “I just thought—” As Margo teased her, Alice gasped and tightened her legs around Margo’s waist, breathing raggedly for long moments before she tried again to speak. “I watched a movie last night,” she confessed quietly. “Of two women. It looked… It looked so _hot_.”

She sounded dazed by the admission, like she’d never really thought about it before, like this whole same-sex attraction was fucking with her a little.

“Yeah, it is hot to watch, but even hotter to do.” Margo rested her thumb on Alice’s clit and slid two fingers from her other hand over her opening, teasing her and preparing her before she dipped them in. She hunched to press kisses to Alice’s glorious tits bobbing on the surface of the water. “I love watching them suck on each other’s tits. Something so sexy and gentle about it.”

“Mhm,” Alice agreed, strained, her hands sliding over Margo’s back, up into her hair, restless, like she didn’t know where to touch. “I don’t um…” Alice sounded so hazy, so distracted by Margo. “I don’t like when boys… But you…”

Working her hips, Alice pushed her cunt onto Margo’s fingers more deeply and rocked into her thumb, grinding her clit against Margo’s pressure as she sighed greedily. “It’s different with you.”

“Yeah. It’s very different. I know what I’m doing and I’m not just trying to stick something in you. I want you to come. I love seeing you lose your mind to it. My poor Alice, always thinking so hard, worrying. Gives you a little break, doesn’t it? From all that thinking, all that worrying.” Margo slid a third finger into her, working her with both hands, loving the way that Alice tensed and trembled.

Alice had thrown back her head to gasp for air and Margo closed in to kiss her neck, giving her tiny nips on her throat, then to the side up behind her ear. “I brought my dick if you want me to just fuck your brains out. It’s right there in my bag. If you want it, tell me.”

“Your _dick?”_

That surprised her. Alice’s eyes opened wide and she turned her head to search Margo’s face. At Margo’s lascivious, promising expression, Alice whispered, “You brought your dick to Encanto? Of course you did. What was I thinking?”

She laughed then, raspy and delighted, and flexed her legs around Margo as she rode her fingers, just giving herself over to it like she’d given up on thinking altogether. “Mm I think I want to see you in action.” Alice sounded both embarrassed and excited, like she couldn’t believe she was talking about this. “First you fuck me, make me come enough I forget myself, and then I will attempt…satisfactory cunnilingus.”

“You’ll be great at it, and my pussy will be all ready and easy for you, because my dick works both ways.” Margo kissed Alice, loving how scandalized she could look while also being very aroused. “You know how after you’ve come, and your pussy is all hot and slick and anything that touches it feels like heaven? She’ll be all ready for you to have your wicked way with, Alice.”

Just the dirty talk seemed to be really doing it for Alice. Margo lowered her head and sucked lightly on her nipple, giving it a little brush of her teeth. “You like it like this, or you want it from behind?”

“Oh,” Alice said, overwhelmed for a moment. She shivered and clung like she just needed Margo so much. “Surely a woman like you can switch it up halfway through and leave me guessing,” she teased, talking big probably to cover for her inexperience and insecurity. “Maybe you should just fuck me already.”

She was slick enough around Margo’s fingers to suggest she wasn’t fronting about that, at least, her walls rippling around Margo’s digits, clutching at them, needy and juicy.

“Mm, okay. I got you.” Margo kissed Alice again, fingers going in on her clit again, giving it a very light pinch, seeing how sensitive she was and how surprised Alice seemed to be at the ways Margo worked her body. Then she slid her hands under Alice and wiggled from between her legs.

Grabbing the edge of the bath, Margo pushed up to get herself out of the water, sitting naked next to her bag. She opened it and pulled out her strap on along with some pocket rockets, buzzy little things that Margo loved to use just about everywhere.

She took the items out one-by-one, showing them to Alice, including the bundle of straps and beautiful clear iridescent dildo. It wasn’t exactly shaped like a dick; rather, it was shaped specifically to fuck a woman with, ergonomic and beautiful with a base that would slide into Margo to steady it.

Margo wrapped the straps loosely on her legs and then scooted to the very edge of the bath with her legs spread wide. She rubbed the base of her dick against her cunt, biting her lip as she thought about how hard she was going to fuck Alice.

She drank in how Alice looked at Margo playing with herself. “You wanna help me get this in?”

“Yes,” Alice rasped, pale eyes enormous. She didn’t quite smile, but she looked happy somehow, rapt, and stepped between Margo’s spread legs, looking up at her. Alice reached up with both hands to squeeze Margo’s breasts gently, seeming awed by them, by the situation, by all this unhurried pleasure.

Breathing turned shaky, Alice leaned in to lip at Margo’s nipple, suckling it carefully as she kneaded the other in her little hand. Tilting her head a little, Alice gazed up at Margo, blinking slowly, her blond lashes red and gold in the candlelight.

Then, with a deep inhalation, Alice shifted her mouth to the other breast and trailed down Margo’s torso with her hands, caressing Margo’s inner thighs before she grasped the dildo by its shaft and steadied the insertable base with her other hand. She joined Margo in the teasing, sliding it between Margo’s inner lips, spreading her juices until Margo was so wet and ready all Alice needed to do was apply pressure, and the base popped firmly into Margo’s cunt, settling just right as Margo flexed around it and shifted.

“I want to—” Alice licked her lips as she looked up at Margo and then stepped back, both hands on Margo’s thighs when she leaned in and took Margo’s dick in her mouth.

“Yeah, can you take her, Alice?” Margo grinned as she watched Alice mouth her dick. It was so sexy watching her suck it while Margo tightened the straps around her legs and snapped in place steadying straps. Margo liked a lot of stability and loved the machinery of it.

She grasped her dick, pulled it back from Alice’s mouth, and slapped her lightly on the cheek with it. “You are such a fucking sexy woman, Alice. I’m going to make you come so hard you’re going to forget your own name. Then you can do whatever you want to me. I want you to. Whatever turns you on.”

Margo slipped back into the water and did a tut to slick up her dick. Sure, Alice was plenty wet, and the water had oils in it, but it was Margo’s position that more lube was better. A dry fucking was always a turn off.

She approached Alice and held her hands up, and Alice brought her hands up to twine their fingers. Margo kissed Alice hard, letting her passion consume her, wanting Alice to know how turned on she was from Alice sucking her dick, how badly she wanted to fuck Alice so hard.

Not that someone wanting to fuck Alice was probably a novel experience for her, but Margo wanted to make _her_ come. Not just to nail her and get off.

She backed Alice against the wall, but as Alice started to bring her legs up, Margo released her and turned her to face the wall. “Spread your legs for me,” Margo whispered in Alice’s ear. She ran her hands up and down Alice’s torso, teasing her nipples, then slid them down to finger her cunt. “Press your hands against the wall.”

_“Fuck,”_ Alice said, low and winded. She braced her hands against the wall obediently, though, and turned her head to look at Margo. “I—” She licked her lips, pupils blown, her blond hair clinging wet to her skin.

Margo waited, respectful, in case Alice wanted to change her mind, but then Alice dragged her into a searing kiss and pushed back against Margo, widening her stance further and offering herself up to Margo for the taking.

“Good girl.” Margo grabbed her hips and pulled her back slightly, getting her to arch a little more as Margo rubbed her dick between her cunt lips, letting the tip catch at her opening, letting her feel it before sliding away.

Margo put her hands over Alice’s so she couldn’t force it or move it until Margo was ready. Or at least, until Alice made that throaty whine that said she was going to lose it if Margo didn’t get on with it.

Resting her forehead on Alice’s back, Margo listened to her breathing while she rocked her hips, just an inch in before she popped back out.

Alice choked a little each time Margo breached her and then let out a little half sob when she slid back out. The tension in Alice’s body kept growing, hips moving as she tried to chase Margo’s dick. Alice had probably never been more desperate to be fucked, and Margo gloried in it.

Then Alice whimpered, and Margo stopped, listening to her gasp, holding her breath, on the edge. As Alice inhaled finally, after moments of breathless silence, Margo thrust surely, filling Alice to the hilt.

“Mm yes, you feel that? Feel me inside you Alice? That’s what you need, isn’t it? Someone who wants to torture you, just a little.”

Before Alice could respond, Margo released her hands to pick up one of the pocket rockets, flicked it on, and wrapped her arm around Alice’s body to tease the vibrator around her clit. The first touch of it sparked a half-scream as Alice jolted and flinched, so disbelieving, and then she choked it back and squirmed helplessly.

“Margo,” she whispered, saying Margo’s name with the kind of tender, mindblown reverence only women seemed capable of. “Margo, please.”

Alice’s hands flexed against the tiled wall, fingernails scratching at the hard, slick surface for purchase she’d never find. “Oh god,” she said, seemingly to herself. “Oh god, oh god.” Like she’d just realized what she’d gotten herself into.

Margo turned it down a little but brought it up to buzz against Alice’s nipple while Margo pulled back and thrust again. She pressed a little button in her belt, and her dick started to vibrate slowly deep inside Alice.

The specialty of Margo’s dick was that it was magic, of course; it could be whatever Margo wanted it to be, could seek out and find the g-spot and help work it.

Margo rocked her hips as she grabbed a second vibrator and moved her hands lightly over Alice’s breasts, teasing her nipples with them. “Oh god, I love your tits so much Alice. You deserve to feel so good all over.”

When it seemed like Alice had adjusted to the vibrations to her nipples, Margo moved a hand down, teasing the vibrations around her labia, looking for a good spot to keep it that wouldn’t overwhelm her. “Jesus Christ, the sounds you make when you come, Alice. I just want to do this to you all day.”

“I usually don’t make sounds,” Alice whispered like a confession. She laughed a little, bitter and dry. “I usually don’t come either.”

Then her breath hitched, and Margo knew she’d found the spot she was looking for, just above Alice’s clit, the sensitive nub shielded by its hood. Margo knew that game, the way the vibrations traveled down to the glans, the way that tiny throbbing pearl swelled vital and red, growing more and more tender as Alice got closer and closer to climax.

As Margo pressured that spot, rocking the vibe from one side to the other, slow and steady, just a shift of her palm against its handle, Alice let out a long, desperate groan and dropped her head between her arms, seeming to surrender entirely to Margo. She rocked her hips into Margo’s thrusts, meeting each one with a tiny, beautiful gasp like music, almost drowned out by the sloshing of the water.

“Oh god,” Alice said again, her vocabulary dramatically reduced the wetter her cunt got. “Never felt like…”

“Yeah, you’re just a finely tuned sportscar everyone wants but no one really knows how to handle, aren’t you? You need someone who knows what they’re doing because it’s all here. You’re so sensitive, just need to be treated right so you really purr.” Margo was getting so aroused just listening to her, though the vibrations from her plug didn’t hurt. “You are so sexy. You can do this. Come for me, lady. Think about my dick pounding inside of you, that vibration just in that spot. You feel my finger? Feel that on your clit? You just want to explode, don’t you?”

Margo kissed Alice’s shoulder and her neck, giving her little bites as she worked a faster rhythm and put more pressure on her clit. “You turn me on so much, Alice. Fuck.”

Legs trembling, Alice squeaked again, like too much sound was trying to escape and she couldn’t quite let it go. She fucked herself on Margo though, meeting her thrusts, letting Margo bottom out in her sweet little cunt, taking it hungrily now. Margo fucked her harder, giving Alice all she could take, and finally, _finally_ Alice wailed, a wild, exultant sound.

She dropped one hand from the wall to reach down and cover Margo’s, guiding the vibration minutely as she came, easing it off and then back on as she came and came and _came_. Alice’s back heaved with her deep, desperate breaths, and she was panting when she finally purred, “Margo, _please_ ,” and pulled her hand away.

Slumping forward against the wall, Alice shuddered, and for a moment Margo was afraid she was going to cry, but then she realized Alice was laughing so hard no sound was coming out. Pulling off Margo’s cock carefully, Alice turned to face Margo and held out her arms, still trembling.

“Yes, come here.” Margo set aside the vibrators and pulled her in, wrapping her arms around her tightly, finding that she really needed the affection, too, which surprised the shit out of her. She loved how they fit together like this, and she just hugged and held Alice as she trembled, smoothing her hand through her hair and down her back. “You did so, so good. So fucking good, Alice. Fuck.”

Margo tucked Alice’s face against the crook of her neck and rocked her slowly, lovingly. “That was a good one. So perfect, Alice.”

“You weren’t bad either,” Alice replied, a little tart, like maybe she was self-conscious. But she nuzzled Margo’s throat and wrapped herself around Margo completely, hugging her tight.

Then, slowly, so gradually it took Margo a moment to recognize the sensation, Alice kissed her way up Margo’s neck to her ear. She tugged the lobe in her teeth, so gently, dropped her hands to Margo’s ass, and murmured, “I think you’ve earned what you’ve got coming to you.”

“Of course I did. So… how do you want me? What’s your fantasy? What’s that movie you watched? Liked you sucking my tits.” Margo paused and pulled back to look at Alice. “Or would you prefer for me to tell you what to do?”

“Um. I um.” Alice seemed so flustered, sweet and awkward, her afterglowy brain obviously struggling to process. “Just tell me what you need,” she answered belatedly, after a few moments of staring mutely into Margo’s eyes, hands idle on Margo’s ass cheeks, just resting there. “Just…I want to make things…even.”

She _said_ that, but it didn’t entirely sound like what she meant.

Margo eyed her for a moment. _Even._ Like a trade.

She smugly thought Alice needed a fuckton more practice before she could do what Margo had just done to her, but she didn’t want to scare Alice. What was very clear was that Alice wasn’t sure how to articulate her desires yet and so Margo decided it would be better to just give her orders. Set her up for success.

“All right. Even, okay. I got you. Tell you what, I’d really like you to eat my pussy, but it might be easier out of here, unless you want me on the edge of the bath again. Got a little bag of toys over there, too. But I’d really love to see your fingers in me, your head between my legs. You like that idea?”

Alice lifted her chin in defiance, like she wouldn’t tolerate doubt, and sniffed, a little haughty, like Margo hadn’t just fucked her brains out and left her weak in the knees. “I like it fine.”

Before Margo could respond, Alice took Margo’s chin in her hand, grasping it between thumb and forefinger, and leaned in to kiss her slow and thorough, licking out her mouth like she was getting a head start on the cunnilingus. Her other hand settled on Margo’s breast, kneading the flesh and pinching her nipple between two knuckles.

After a few long, heady moments, Alice broke the kiss and worked a quick series of tuts Margo recognized as one of Popper’s, this one meant to unfasten closures. It worked almost instantly, and Margo’s harness came undone, but Alice was already reaching for it, nimble hands easing the base out of Margo’s cunt and then setting the whole thing aside before Alice’s mouth was on Margo’s again.

As their mouths clashed and their tongues worked together and against each other, Alice slipped her hand between Margo’s legs, anchoring her thumb against Margo’s swollen clit—unlike most guys, she found it unerringly—and extended her fingers back into the slick mess left behind by the dildo’s base. Alice stroked between Margo’s lips, spreading the slippery juices, and then sank three slender fingers into Margo’s cunt, her thumb still pressing against Margo’s clit.

“That feels…” Alice panted against Margo’s mouth between kisses. “That feels amazing. You _are_ ready, aren’t you?”

Then Alice lifted her hand and licked the traces of Margo’s juices from her fingers, eyes bright and lips curved into a wicked smile. After a beat, Alice caressed Margo’s lips with the fingers that had been in her cunt, water beading from them and dripping down Margo’s chin before Alice gently slid her fingertips into Margo’s mouth, gaze locked with hers.

Margo grinned around Alice’s fingers and sucked them, sliding her tongue over them, cleaning them, holding her stare lustily. Then she released them and nuzzled her cheek against Alice’s hand. “I am so fucking ready for you.”

She wrapped her arms around Alice’s neck and leaned against her to kiss her again. “You can lead me around by the cunt all week; you didn’t know that yet?”

“I—” Alice stumbled over her words and melted against Margo, kissing her so sweetly, like Margo had said something breathtakingly romantic. _“Margo.”_

Again, she said it in that deeply reverent tone, worshipful, like she recognized Margo for the goddess she was. Then Alice pushed Margo against the wall. “Sit here, on the edge. Spread your legs.”

Margo grinned and stood against the wall to give Alice a quick kiss. “Anything for you, gorgeous.”

She hopped up on the edge of the bath and positioned herself as close to the edge as she could get and spread her legs wide. Reaching down with one hand, she opened her labia, giving Alice the full view. A curious woman like Alice would _want_ to see it all, even if she wasn’t always quite ready to ask for what she wanted.

“You liked how I felt around your fingers, didn’t you? I loved how your fingers felt inside me. You like that? Being inside of me? Having control of the mean girl?”

“Yeah,” Alice answered, honest but not meeting Margo’s eyes. She was too busy staring at her pussy.

Then Alice licked her lips, sending a spike of arousal through Margo, and Alice stepped closer before reaching out to hold Margo’s lips open with her own fingers. She worried her bottom lip continuously, like she was working up to something, and then leaned in and kissed Margo’s clit, just a gentle brush of her lips and hot breath.

Alice shivered, like that turned her on, and then looked back up at Margo’s face, searching her eyes. “I always thought…if I could just figure out how to…be your equal, in your eyes, that we’d be friends. You’re smart, Margo. You’re so, so smart, and powerful, and _beautiful_ , and it made me crazy how you’d talk down to me, like I was so beneath you, because I _know_ I’m more than that.”

The defiant chin again, head tilted back, wide eyes lit with pale fire. “I knew I was more than that, but I didn’t know how to make you see it. Now…” She shrugged one shoulder, making her glossy, wet breasts bounce, and then sank three fingers into Margo’s cunt like she was making a point.

Margo arched and let out a sigh of pleasure. She leaned into Alice’s fingers. “I really thought I’d get a rise out of you eventually. You’d rise up and smack me down. Then you were flirting with that nerd. He can’t fuck you like I do, though. And you _are_ more than that. That’s why I want you. And I want you to fuck me, and I want you to know that you’ve had me, and that if you get irritated you can just toss me against the wall and I’ll be begging for it from you.”

As Margo spoke the magic words, Alice’s pupils blew wide and dark, and her mouth opened on a silent gasp. She stared at Margo in open lust and fascination and fucked her harder, curling her fingertips up and rubbing against Margo’s g-spot with truly wonderful precision.

“There?” she asked, massaging that rough, swollen little place inside Margo. She didn’t need an answer.

Then she leaned in and mouthed Margo’s breast, sucking and biting at her nipple and grinding the heel of her palm against Margo’s clit.

“Yeah, there.” Margo leaned over to wrap her arms over Alice’s body, pressing her chest harder against her mouth. “Fuck yeah. Like that, Alice. Fuck me, fuck me, Alice. Just like that. Just think about it, I’m giving you shit, and you just push me to the wall, reach under my stupidly short skirt, and finger fuck me until I’m crying out your name and everyone fucking _knows_ you own me. You like that?”

Margo shifted, clamping down hard around Alice’s fingers. Hearing Alice come and feeling that plug in her earlier had her halfway there. “Come on, Alice. Give it to me. Give it to me like you want to. Fuck yeah. Right there. Shit, Alice.”

Alice was breathing as hard as Margo, biting at her tits hard enough to leave little red marks and groaning as she worked Margo’s cunt. Then, roughly, she pushed Margo off her, pressing Margo back until she lay flat on the edge of the bath.

“Stay there,” Alice panted, like she was gonna come again soon herself. Then she pulled her hand free and nuzzled into Margo’s mons, licking delicately over her hypersensitive clit and gazing at Margo, just the top of her face visible over Margo’s freshly groomed mound.

As Margo shifted, getting comfortable, maybe a little demanding, Alice filled her cunt with those fantastic fingers once more, working her from a new angle but hitting all the right spots. Because of course she’d read about this. Of course she’d done the research. Alice Quinn never went at anything ignorant.

And what couldn’t be learned from books or the internet, Alice learned from Margo’s body, so attuned to her little gasps and bucks. It was fucking hot the way she zeroed in on what Margo wanted, pressing the flat of her tongue against Margo’s clit, giving her more pressure, curling her tongue around that needy little pearl and flicking it until Margo’s toes were curling.

Give it to Alice Quinn, she could do two things at once. Three, because her free hand dropped out of sight, probably between Alice’s legs again as she pushed them both toward a reckless frenzy.

When Margo arched into Alice’s mouth, wanting more, _needing_ more edge, something else, Alice pressed that stubborn chin of hers closer so it ground into that middle ground between clit and cunt just right, until Margo’s whole body was lighting up with pleasure, and maybe Alice was a little prissy about it, and maybe Alice was a little too controlled, but she would learn.

Margo would teach her.

For now, Margo let go, shuddering with her arms up and out, stretching against the hard floor as she wrapped her legs around Alice. She kept Alice close as Margo rocked through her climax, locking her legs there because she could feel in her clit that she had more to go, that if Alice just kept… And then she _did,_ and Margo let out another cry, feeling it through her whole body.

“Your fingers… just… yes.” Margo flopped, her body winding up and back down, letting Alice have it all, hear it all. She’d earned it. And when Margo finally rode out the last crest of orgasm and became too sensitive, she moved her legs to push Alice beck gently and lay on the floor gasping. “Fuck.”

Once she caught her breath, Margo turned her head to look to the bath. Alice looked very pleased with herself.

“Don’t look so smug over there, Miss Quinn. I’ll make you do it again some time.”

Alice laughed and licked her lips before she sucked her fingers clean, giving Margo a stellar come-hither look. Then she sighed and shivered a little, like aftershocks. “I came again eating you out, so it’s safe to assume I’m up for a repeat, provided certain conditions are met.”

Stepping to the side, Alice boosted herself out of the bath and stretched out next to Margo on her side. She extended one arm to embrace Margo casually, like she wasn’t sure there should be cuddling after.

Margo scooted closer and wrapped a leg around her, pulling her in. She was pretty hit or miss with cuddling, but Alice was someone she knew and liked, so it seemed worth the investment.

“You came again. Eating me out. Oh dirty girl. I love it. Come here.” Margo kissed her, sucking Alice’s bottom lip to taste herself on her as she stroked her skin, tracing along her breast and fondling her nipple absently. “So, conditions, hm? What are these conditions?”

“Well, it sounds like you intend to keep being a bitch, and you expect me to resolve it by shoving my fingers in you. Is that an accurate reading of the situation?” Alice sounded amused, but she returned Margo’s idle caresses, the two of them entwined and snuggling without quite crossing the line into sappiness.

“Maybe just when I want you to fuck me.” Margo beamed at Alice fondly as she pushed her hair back from her face. “I’d rather you just hang out with us willingly, but I’ll do what it takes.”

“You…want me to hang out with you, plural. With Eliot and Quentin and you?” Alice sounded surprised by that, but she bumped her head against Margo’s hand like a cat wanting pets. “So…is this a friends with benefits situation? Is it just for Encanto?” Alice’s gaze narrowed as she studied Margo. “With all this chum in the water, I expected you to join the feeding frenzy.”

Margo stroked Alice’s face, enjoying that she liked the attention. “You already get along with Eliot and Quentin, and if we’re banging, then we should all hang out. You need a crew, I need some female energy, and you’re the baddest ass woman on campus. Other than me.”

Gripping her chin, Margo toyed with Alice’s bottom lip. “If you don’t want me fucking other people at Encanto, I think you should stay. And if you keep taking me on romantic horse rides, we might wind up more than friends, so consider that when you make plans.”

A beautiful rosy blush spread over Alice’s face, and her eyes brightened until she was sparkling at Margo in an entirely adorable way. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, arch, like the smile in her baby blues wasn’t giving all her secrets away.

After a moment, she floated an idea so delicately Margo knew it mattered to her more than she’d ever let on. “Maybe you could stay here with me. We could do mornings together and evenings with the boys. Go out dancing as a group, keep away the skeevy Encanto leeches? It seemed like maybe they’re…a little wrapped up in one another. If you want to give them their space, I’ve got more than I need.”

“Hm. I should check with El before I commit to it. He’s horribly codependent, though I do think his aim is to make Quentin his boyfriend.” Margo made a gagging motion and then chuckled about it. “But I’d really like to spend more time with you. Don’t think he’ll be overly surprised if I stay the night; then I can talk to him about it tomorrow. If you don’t want him commandeering this whole… thing, we should never tell him about it. Boy loves a bath.”

Then she pulled Alice in and kissed her slowly. This was working out pretty well. No matter what happened, it seemed like at the very least, Margo had another good friend.

But then, the sex was fantastic, so… could always be more. “But while we’re here, we should brave some of the leeches to at least get you your own strap on. They sell the best ones here, and I think no matter what happens, you deserve one.”

“Really?” Alice giggled huskily and squirmed closer to Margo, kissing her in her excitement, titties bouncing into Margo’s as their bodies pressed together. It was, honestly, just so cute. Then Alice flopped back on her back and stretched, looking happier than Margo had ever seen her. “I think I’ve earned my own dick. You’ll have to teach me the ways of the lady dick.”

“Yeah, we can bring the boys on that trip if you want. El really geeks out about the specs. It’s both kinda cute and kinda obnoxious, but that’s his charm.” And maybe someday, they’d peg the boys together.

Margo grinned. “Let’s rinse off in the bath, get my dick out of there, order some lunch, and eat it in bed. We can go dance later if you want.”

“That sounds perfect.” Alice sat up and then slipped back into the water with a splash, holding out her arms to Margo.

There was something about that moment, about Alice’s rosy, shining face, a little wary, a lot satisfied. Something about her wide-open arms and the frankly phenomenal visual of her soaking wet breasts floating in the bath. Something, deeper, unspoken, about the tenuous bond they were forming, uniting them in a man’s world, just two badass bitches looking for ways to crush the patriarchy and have fun doing it.

As Margo slipped into Alice’s arms, their lips met, and they tangled together again, as natural as breathing. Alice laughed softly and whispered, “Don’t get too cocky on me, but I’m happy you’re staying a while.”

“I’m going to get cocky with you as many times as you allow it. As I recall, you liked my cocky pretty well.” Margo nuzzled her and sighed, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here. Okay, enough mush. Let’s grab my dick and go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea writing Malice would be so fun. I kind of want to do it all the time now. Queliot forever, but Margo and Alice... There's something there.


	9. Epilogue? What Epilogue?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El, Q, Margo, and Alice return to Brakebills for the new semester, all loved up and cemented as a squad. Crew? Quentin doesn't know what to call them, but he knows he likes it. 
> 
> This chapter is best understood as, "Suddenly, plot!" Plot which is quickly and painlessly resolved because this story is absolute fluff. Somehow this became a season 4 fix-it. I don't know. I didn't know it was gonna have fake boyfriends or Malice either when I started. 
> 
> This fic should be called "Stuff Happens & prettyclever Flails."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the summer's end epilogue in Q's POV where Char tried to tie this fic into the larger Magicians universe and make it less of a random AU. Char may have gone overboard. It's absolutely crack, but nothing bad happens, no one gets hurt, and everything is happy in the end. There is no sex, but there is sap.

Quentin watched as Eliot worked at the bar concocting the perfect drink for the returning Physical Kids at the start of the new semester. Mostly meaning their new, expanded squad. Crew? Quentin wasn’t sure, but it was nice to feel like he belonged somewhere.

He’d felt that about the cottage, but now he had a boyfriend, and a best friend in Alice, and a… Well, he wasn’t sure exactly how to define his relationship with Margo. Friend he fingerbanged in public once? Woman who kept dropping hints about pegging him?

He sat on the curved couch with Alice nestled between him and Margo, all three waiting like baby birds for Eliot to serve the cocktails. The only other person in attendance this early was Todd, who sat somewhat expectantly on the mom jean chair, as if Eliot would decide out of nowhere to blow him.

Eliot flourished his hands dramatically as the cocktail glasses spun telekinetically and he drizzled some kind of bright blue liqueur over the golden contents. Then he dropped Luxardo cherries into the glasses and sauntered over with the tray balanced showily on one hand.

“Bambi,” he said, passing Margo her drink first. She had seniority, and Quentin more or less accepted that. “Alice,” he added as he handed Alice hers, because ladies first and also Margo would be irritated if her not-girlfriend-but-definitely-girlfriend had to wait.

Then, raising his eyebrow playfully, Eliot crooned, _“Quentin,”_ and held Quentin’s glass to his lips, apparently deciding to watch as Quentin tasted the concoction. Its strong aura of alcohol stung his nostrils, but when he sipped it, it was some kind of tart berry-and-pineapple profile with hints of something deeper, almost grassy. After tasting so many of Eliot’s creations, Quentin was getting pretty good at deciphering the flavors Eliot was going to ask him about.

Todd piped up from the mom jean chair. “Do I get one?”

Poor Todd. He still wasn’t over the fact Quentin had somehow managed an invite to Encanto with Margo and Eliot. Wait until he figured out Eliot and Quentin were exclusive.

Eliot responded to Todd indirectly—by kissing Quentin. Quentin had only a split second to suck in a breath before Eliot’s tongue was in his mouth, and then Eliot was moaning softly, kissing Quentin so deeply his heart pounded and his skin tingled all over at the way he just _knew_ everyone was staring.

Then Eliot pulled back, smirking, and handed Quentin his glass. “Drink up, baby Q.”

After a few moments of lingering eye-fucking, Eliot turned his attention on Todd. “Margo gets one because she’s my Bambi. Alice gets one because Margo says so. Quentin gets one because he’s fucking me. I’m not sure why I should give you one. Thoughts?”

Todd looked on the verge of something truly undignified, possibly offering to fuck Eliot in exchange for drinks, but Eliot just made a soft, negating noise and telekinetically summoned a drink for Todd, directing it into Todd’s hand.

“There. Consider yourself blessed by the party gods. Drink deep, go out, and find a life of your own Todd. You’re not hideous looking. You could be having so much fun if you quit trying to make us like you. I hear the Psychics are having a party at their cottage. Why don’t you go check it out?”

Then Alice stood and laid a hand on Eliot’s perfectly dressed arm. She looked up at him, something unspoken passed between them, and Eliot sighed as he perched on the arm of the couch beside Quentin.

“Todd,” Alice began, awkwardness in full effect. Quentin could relate. “El sounds like an asshole—he _is_ kind of an asshole—” Alice shot Eliot a look equal parts fond and exasperated before returning her gaze to Todd. “—but it’s good advice. You’ve been seeking approval, and it has become just glaringly obvious to me that doing your own thing is the best way to get El and Margo to like you. It sounds counter-intuitive, but you have to stop caring first. You’re likeable. I mean, you _can_ be likeable. Sometimes.”

Todd looked both wounded and determined as he stood from the mom jean chair. He looked to Quentin as if to a peer, like Quentin might have words of wisdom to impart.

“Um.” Quentin took another sip of his drink. “If someone sucks your dick, take them out to dinner.”

Margo cackled and toasted. “To that.”

Everyone sipped.

Then Margo continued. “It’s okay, Todd. Maybe next year for Encanto. Alice doesn’t need my invite. You can come, and we’ll hook you up.”

She turned her head and eyed Alice lovingly, as if to communicate she was only being kind to impress Alice.

One late night after their week in Ibiza, on a river cruise when they’d been drinking and smoking way too much, Quentin had made the mistake of joking that Margo was pussy whipped. He’d survived, but only just.

Quentin still thought it constantly, though.

It wasn’t even a bad thing, in Quentin’s opinion, because Alice seemed a lot happier, and it had done wonders for their friendship. Margo was nicer, at least somewhat.

Todd brightened. “Really?”

Margo nodded and gave a little shrug. “See where we are at the end of the year. You may have reasons not to go. Don’t have to be a psychic to know there are some others around here with crushes on you.”

He blushed and didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He took a sip of the cocktail Eliot had given him and looked very impressed. “Okay, well, thanks, Eliot. Margo. Alice. Quentin. You’re all real kings and queens. Don’t wait up for me.”

With that, Todd left, and Quentin got up from the couch to let Eliot sit down so Quentin could sit on his lap.

Eliot settled elegantly on the cushions and held out his arms, guiding Quentin into place with palpable satisfaction. He loved when Quentin perched on him because it brought their faces level and made kissing easier. They did a _lot_ of kissing.

“Wise words, everyone,” Eliot murmured as he stroked Quentin’s hair and snuggled into Alice’s side. Margo snuggled in from the other, and they made a contented pile of limbs. That was typical for them these days; they’d been inseparable since Ibiza.

Alice finished her drink and set her empty glass on the coffee table before nestling back between Quentin, El, and Margo. She was flush-faced and smiling, as happy as Quentin had ever seen her. “It doesn’t hurt to be kind,” she said quietly. “You don’t always have to make people the butt of your jokes.”

Eliot murmured vague agreement and nibbled Quentin’s ear.

“Okay so what I don’t get is… Todd _is_ a high-strung nerd, is he not?” Quentin tried to concentrate on his train of thought, but Eliot knew just how to derail him with kisses and a few strokes on his inner thigh.

“Not damaged enough. Too emotionally available. A suck up. Too much energy,” Margo said as she mirrored Eliot’s strategy on Alice.

“Looks too much like Eliot?” Quentin asked before he finished his drink.

Margo laughed. “I think the narcissism kept Todd on the bubble for a hot minute, but we don’t really like our prey that easy.”

“Mm much as I would _love_ to fuck myself, literally, as I am so often told to do…” Eliot smiled against Quentin’s cheek and chuckled wryly. “We’re very attracted to a specific combination of self-hatred and self-confidence, generally the province of highly neurotic, highly intelligent, completely nerdy individuals like Mr. Coldwater and Ms. Quinn. Todd’s a little too malleable and eager to please.”

Alice giggled. “Margo _really_ likes a challenge.” She cut her gaze at Margo and something unspoken passed between them.

“Mm, you know I do.” Margo grabbed Alice by the nape and leaned in to kiss her deeply. It didn’t matter how many times they did this in front of Quentin, he always felt that visceral pang of lust at seeing them together like that.

He averted his gaze because it wasn’t really _for_ him, and he felt weird just sitting there watching even if neither of them seemed to mind. Which may have been part of why they didn’t mind. Quentin didn’t know, didn’t really want to know, especially when he was on Eliot’s lap.

He turned his head to meet Eliot’s lips, more for a kiss of reassurance than to sate lust, because it was nice to have someone of his own. Nice to have someone to have secrets with and to share kisses with.

He was about to say something when everything froze. A siren seemed to be going off on campus, something that Quentin had never experienced. His eyes widened at Eliot, who was staring back at him in apparent confusion.

There was the sound of fluttering, like a swarm of moths, and the soft steps of loafers, like someone was doing a little soft-shoe.

“Quentin Coldwater,” the voice said, deep and British, completely unfamiliar.

Behind him, the coffee table squeaked as it shifted, and he felt extraordinary trepidation as if they were all well and truly fucked. Then all of a sudden, it was over, and he was unfrozen. The alarms stopped.

“Wait, what—” Eliot clung to Quentin protectively, still on high alert.

“Something breached the wards,” Alice said, sounding remarkably level. Her hands were held ready to work battle magic.

 _“Nothing_ should be able to breach the wards,” Eliot said, a little high-pitched. He kept his grasp on Quentin as they stood and looked around. “Master magicians maintain the wards. Whatever this is—”

“Was obviously—and rightly—very frightened of you four,” Dean Fogg said, stepping into the cottage. He headed to the bar and poured himself a drink. “You generated a lot of magical energy during your vacation to Ibiza, didn’t you?” He sounded as calm as ever, voice velvety and wry. “Carried it back with you like a battery, recharging it with sexual, cooperative energy.”

A pile of delicate, desiccated moths lay on the floor a few feet from Quentin. In their midst was a single, oddly familiar button.

“It knew my name. Why did it know my name?” Quentin clung back to Eliot, but his gaze kept fixing on the button in a small hexagon case. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“We don’t know,” said Fogg before swigging his drink. “It’s a presence that has grown increasingly aggressive over the past few years. This is the first time it has spoken, and it knows your name. Hard to see that as a good thing.”

“Me?” Quentin looked up at Eliot who appeared just as confused and horrified, then traded looks with Alice, his gaze ending on Margo, whose brows were furrowed. “Are high-strung nerds _everyone’s_ type suddenly? How did he even get in?”

“It was a _thing_. A suited man with moths obscuring his face. He came in through the windows, but not… the window wasn’t open. It was like it went liquid,” said Margo. She turned to eye the huge window seat where Quentin liked to read sometimes.

The windows had condensation on them, and in one pane was a smiley face, which somehow made the whole thing creepier.

“And he left behind a button? A button. Why is that so familiar?” Quentin eyed Margo.

“It’s familiar to me, too, but…” Margo tilted her head.

Quentin looked to Dean Fogg, who just stared at them expectantly.

“A button… I mean, in the Fillory books—” Quentin started.

Margo frowned. “Fillory? But that’s not real. Is it?”

“I don’t know. Is it?” Alice gave them an inquisitive look, eyes bright. Her focus fixed on Dean Fogg. “You know more about this than you’re letting on.”

Eliot chuckled and pulled Quentin closer, arm around him as if he wasn’t convinced the threat was past. “The inscrutable Henry Fogg put on the spot by the wide-eyed young grad student. You’re already drinking our liquor, Dean. You might as well join us for conversation.”

“Ah.” Dean Fogg shrugged and refilled his tumbler before moving toward them. “You’re not wrong, Alice. There has been…ample speculation between myself and a friend over what might happen if the four of you ever learned to cast as a unit. It seemed unlikely you’d harness your inherent compatibility, the way things were going during finals, but it appears you’ve…sorted things out.”

“I don’t hear anyone saying that Fillory _isn’t_ real. Is it?” Quentin squeezed Eliot in his excitement but also to reassure him. “Is that monster, that thing, is that from Fillory?”

The cottage door opened again, and a beautiful redhead came through. The woman looked familiar, as if from a dream. She smiled at Quentin as she stepped in next to Dean Fogg.

“He’s not _not_ from Fillory. Hello, I’m Jane Chatwin.”

Margo cackled. “Oh, that’s a good one. You got us.”

Quentin started to move toward her, but Eliot held him fast. “Wait, what?”

“No, she actually _is_ Jane Chatwin,” Fogg insisted, smiling a little, like he was enjoying the mystery. “And apparently we’ve been worried for nothing. You see, it never occurred to us that sex magic might be what it took to cement your cooperative magic abilities. Or, at least, not in…this configuration.”

Alice narrowed her eyes and looked to the redhead—Jane?—before asking, “You’re friends with Dean Fogg, and you’ve been to Fillory?” Like she was verifying her data, double-checking it before drawing conclusions.

“Yes. I’m Jane Chatwin.”

“From the books?” Quentin really wasn’t sure if this was a prank. After all, he’d fully believed that Eliot was an elf not long ago, and he knew that he could be incredibly naïve. But oh, he wanted to believe that Fillory was real.

Margo looked at everyone and then back at Fogg. “Is this some kind of pre-semester hazing ritual, because—”

“It’s not.” Jane moved to the cluster of moths, gaze sparkling. She bent down and carefully picked up the button case. “But if you don’t believe me, you could all touch the button… see where you end up.”

Quentin reached for it, but Eliot snatched him back, apparently not fully trusting anyone, which was probably smart.

“Who or what _was_ that…man-thing? What kind of dangers would we be walking into?” Eliot tightened his grip on Quentin, both protective and reassuring, and looked from Fogg to Jane to Margo and Alice.

“If you’re Jane Chatwin, prove it,” Alice blurted, stance defiant. Quentin knew she wanted to believe in Fillory—Margo, too—but neither of them appeared as ready to risk it as Quentin felt.

Fogg sighed and rolled his eyes. “Students, you can’t say things like that without expecting Jane to provide you with an extremely dry recounting of her adventures in Fillory, the veracity of which you will be unable to verify until you touch the button. As Ms. Hanson would say, don’t cock out now.”

Jane gave Fogg a mischievous look and murmured, “Oh, Henry.” Then she looked at Quentin, meeting his gaze even as she seemed to address Eliot instead. “That man-thing was once my brother Martin. At the risk of ruining your childhood, you should know that Fillory is not the perfect fantasy land Christopher Plover made it out to be, nor was Plover the kind and caring gentleman he presented himself to be. Don’t let that ruin Fillory for you. You have proven you are more than equal to its dangers, should you stay together.”

She offered the button case again, gaze shifting to Eliot as if daring him to hold Quentin back. This time, when Quentin reached for the case, Eliot didn’t stop him.

“Martin? That was Martin Chatwin?” Quentin took the case and looked down at the button, not touching it yet. His hand shook a little. He still wasn’t sure if everyone was having him on, though Dean Fogg didn’t entirely strike him as the type to prank. “And he was calling me out?”

Margo moved next to Quentin, a little protectively it seemed like. “What, so we’re supposed to just follow him into a Fillory we may well know fuck all about to fight him on his home turf? He’s so confident that he’s left us a way to get there? It sounds like a trap.”

Jane nodded. “It likely is. Or at least he believes he is powerful enough to overcome you. We have been running these timelines with experiments. Henry here thought the fortieth would be the last, but that one ended unsatisfactorily, and I always have a few more tricks up my sleeve.”

She winked at Quentin in a way that felt very pointed, as if he’d somehow thrown a wrench into the gears.

“Um, so… Martin called me out, but we all four need to go, right? And then what? Um, have sex in front of him?” Quentin looked at the button wondering how sex magic was supposed to work against a creature.

Eliot looked at Margo and raised a brow. “I think we’ve probably got this, right, Bambi?” His hand curled around Quentin’s nape, gently playing with his hair. It made Quentin shiver pleasantly even under the current circumstances.

Alice gave him a dubious look that softened as she saw how Margo was looking at Eliot. “I take it you two have some experience in that field?”

“You could say that,” Eliot answered with a leer, massaging Quentin’s occipital lobe. “We’ve weaponized sex magic before, and that was just with a random third. With the two of you… Well. Martin’s smart to lure us back to his territory instead of facing us here.”

“Wait. So… am I going to have to take my pants off in front of a terrifying version of Martin Chatwin who has moths for a head, because I don’t… I mean, I appreciate everyone’s confidence in me, but I don’t know how you get an erection like that.” Quentin looked around, but his gaze rested on Margo, who had pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. “What?”

Eliot shrugged and leaned in to kiss Quentin’s cheek. Against his skin, he whispered, “There are ways around that.” Then he laughed softly and slung his arm around Quentin’s shoulders like he wasn’t worried about it.

“Okay, but I need to know what the plan is? Don’t I?” Unless this was just a joke to try and get him to touch a button for no reason, which seemed excessive. He turned around to look up at Eliot. “You think this is real? There’s a Fillory, and we have to use sex magic to save it?”

Behind him, Jane sighed. “Well, when you put it that way it does sound unlikely.”

“Q, I…” Eliot looked to Margo and Alice before glancing back to Quentin and meeting his gaze. “You might prefer to talk about this, just maybe, not in front of Dean Fogg and Jane Chatwin.”

Dean Fogg cleared his throat, sounding both amused and alarmed.

Alice, seeming to sense Quentin’s increasing desperation for information, said, “Q, sex magic is about more than erect penises. It’s mostly about coordinating two—or more—bodies in harmony. Margo and I have aftermarket equipment to facilitate penetration, should you and Eliot falter.”

“Oh. I mean. Oh.” Quentin felt like his eyes would pop out if they got any wider. “So all of us… _together_?”

“Yes. Just…look Q, we’ll play some EDM, flash some lights, you can pretend that it’s an Ibizan dancefloor if that helps. I don’t recall you being shy that day.” Margo patted Quentin’s back, smirking at him in that slightly smug way that she could.

“I was on a _lot_ of drugs.”

“Viagra wasn’t one. Come on, let’s fuck to save the world. Or at least Fillory. What’s the worst that could happen?” Margo asked, squeezing Quentin’s shoulder.

“There’s a very good chance you could all die horribly, but we’ll just restart the timeline if that happens.” Jane sounded entirely too chipper about that. “Though having sex while you die, I’ve heard, is an extremely pleasant experience, as far as dying goes.”

Quentin looked over his shoulder at her. “That’s supposed to help?”

She shrugged. “You do it, and you can be a king of Fillory. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“I mean, I guess. I…” Quentin held the button in his palm and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I guess Margo might finally get to peg me, huh?”

“Grow a pair of tits, Quentin. I want to fucking see Fillory.” Margo laughed and pulled Alice in with her so that they were all clustered around Quentin and the button.

Eliot snuggled Quentin closer and nuzzled his face. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I’ll be with you.” For a moment, Eliot seemed to struggle with his words, and then he whispered in Quentin’s ear. “Love you, Q. Let’s go to Fillory.”

Quentin looked to Alice, who nodded and smiled like she was all for this, and then he looked back at Eliot. “You love me?”

Margo sighed. “Oh fuck me. Do you have to do this _now_? Give me that goddamn button.”

“Bambi,” Eliot chided, shooting her a look probably no one else could get away with giving her. Then he looked back to Quentin, shrugged one shoulder, and said, “Let’s not make a big deal out of this, Q. I meant what I said.” Eliot held Quentin’s gaze for a moment before looking away, seeming awkward with the emotions as usual, which was what made it amazing he’d admitted to them in the first place.

Whatever Margo thought, the words buoyed Quentin. His cheeks flushed, and he felt invincible. He threw his arms around Eliot, hugging him tight. “I love you, too. I love you. Okay. Okay, we can do this. Okay.”

He let go of Eliot, then bounced back up on his toes to kiss him, and then finally released him and held the button between all of them. He flicked open the case. “Okay. On three? One… two… _three._ ”

After an extremely disorienting, timeless moment, they materialized somewhere distinctly _other._ Alice and Margo looked around avidly as Quentin took it all in. Eliot stood close beside him, one hand on the small of his back, surveying the area with an air of bemused detachment.

“Is that—” Alice pointed, and Quentin looked at what appeared to be a motherfucking _clock tree_.

“Why is there a clock in that tree, Quentin?” Eliot asked, sounding adorably confused. “Where is Martin? Are we doing sex magic in Fillory or what?”

“It’s really interesting, actually. No one really knows why the Watcherwoman created the clock trees, but now,” Quentin paused to listen to the unsettling synchronized ticking, “I bet it must have something to do with the time loops.”

“Very good.” A dapper older man came shuffling around a tree with a dancing gait. “I see you have responded to my summons and are attempting to have some sort of orgy, but I should warn you that I have learned now that the real power in the time magic is in these clocks. I thought destroying Jane would destroy the loops, but no, it’s the bloody clock trees. Trees which you will likely damage or destroy with your magic.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Is he trying to say he thinks we can’t aim?”

“So what? Are you saying if we try to defeat you, we destroy our own timeline? But if we _don’t_ try to defeat you, you’re just going to destroy it anyway. So probably it doesn’t matter.” Eliot sounded both annoyed and confident, so pretty typical Eliot.

“But,” Alice said quietly, voice pitched for their ears, “if we destroy the clock trees, there won’t be a do over. This will be the last timeline.”

“I don’t want a do over. I like this timeline. I have my boyfriend, I have my best friend, my… Margo.” Quentin still wasn’t sure exactly what their relationship was.

She flashed him a smile and gave a little shrug as if she enjoyed the ambiguity.

“The point is, let’s handle this. I’d rather not kill one of my childhood heroes, but if it’s us or him, then let’s do it.” Quentin started undoing his pants.

Martin raised his brows. “Childhood hero?”

“Yeah, you know, from the books.”

“Those books… those damn books.” Martin exhaled as he leaned dramatically against the tree. “Do you know what Christopher Plover did to me?”

“Um.” Quentin looked at the others, feeling a little squeamish. “Wrote about you?”

“No. Not just that.” Martin looked deeply aggrieved. “And then Ember and Umber banished me. All I wanted was to come back here. To be where I could be safe. Is that so wrong?”

“No, I mean… this is where I came in my head when things—”

Margo stepped in. “Hey, I get it. Shit was unfair. Lots of shit is unfair. You don’t go around killing people over it. You want vengeance, and you got it. You could’ve lived the rest of your life peacefully in a cottage here, but you haven’t. Which makes you a shitty person no matter your genesis. And apparently, you’ve killed us forty times, and I think it’s time we killed you back.”

“How does killing us make you safe?” Eliot asked, already stripping out of his trousers. He apparently didn’t need any further encouragement. “What did _we_ do to you? We’re just tourists looking to get our freak on.”

Alice laid a gentle hand on Margo’s arm, though, and eyed Martin. “Is there any outcome where none of us die?”

“And really, guys, do we not have a problem having sex in front of someone with sexual trauma? I’m not sure I feel great about that.” Quentin eyed Martin, who didn’t exactly look upset, but still.

“He killed us forty times, Quentin,” Margo said as she started unbuttoning her shirt.

“Thirty-nine, technically. Forty got rebooted because wonder boy there offed himself.” Martin gestured at Quentin.

“What? I killed myself?”

“I don’t know, it was a noble death or something, I guess. These three found a way to reboot again, and here we all are. Shall we dance?” Martin started going through some tuts and, abuse survivor or not, Quentin wasn’t going to just let himself get killed.

Even if he’d killed himself in another timeline. What the actual fuck?

“Okay, I guess we’re doing this, then.” Quentin pulled off his pants and paused. “I mean, you’re sure we can’t just…”

Martin let loose a spell that threw Quentin back against a tree hard.

Eliot responded immediately, casting a shield around them that Margo quickly picked up on. Quentin, dazed, watched as they worked their cooperative magic, perfectly in sync and half-dressed.

Alice stood behind them, the three of them between Martin and Quentin. Magic sparkled between her fingers. “Martin, we don’t want to hurt you. We’re strong enough together to defeat you, but you’re not our enemy.”

“Not in this timeline. I usually show up early in your first year and fuck everything up for everyone.” Martin sneered.

“So why not this time? Why didn’t you—What changed?” Alice’s voice creaked a little, desperation coloring it. It was painfully obvious she didn’t want to kill anyone.

“You killed me last time. You…you finally did it. Overwhelmed me entirely.” Martin sounded a little lost, much less like the dapper man in a suit and far more like the young boy Quentin remembered from the books. “And I would still be dead, if not for you, Alice, and Eliot, and Margo. You rebooted the last timeline to return Quentin to life, all of you going back in time to the last time loop’s beginning using the power of the Time Key. I…was unexpectedly grateful to be alive and surprised by how Quentin ended things. It was…uncomfortable. I had much to think about. I was…unprepared to launch a full offensive until I’d processed things.”

Eliot and Margo kept casting, weaving a glistening, iridescent ward together, hands tutting in unison. Alice left them there and came to stand beside Quentin, helping him gather himself again and slipping her arm around his waist. The dizziness of hitting the tree and having his breath knocked out of him eased a little, and Alice’s determination bolstered him.

“What, were you mad I did it and you didn’t get to?” Quentin rubbed his back, sore from being thrown. “Though I don’t know why I would’ve done that.”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t know either. It made no narrative sense. If anyone should’ve been in the mirror realm to defeat Everett, it was Kady. Or Zelda. I know you’ve struggled with depression, as did all of your friends, and yet none of them seemed to notice until it was too late, but then…” Martin sighed. “All of those years fighting you, Quentin Coldwater. It wasn’t always Alice. It wasn’t always Eliot or Margo. But it was always you, and as much as I’ve enjoyed killing you… I’ve never lived long in a Quentinless world, and perhaps that’s the point. This world shouldn’t be without you.”

“Me?” Quentin felt very small and strange. He’d barely gotten to take in Fillory, and he was facing off with a monster. A monster who appeared to actually kind of like him, maybe. “But I’m just…”

“You _are_ just.” Martin grinned devilishly. “But you don’t have to be anything but who you are to deserve love and for people to care about you. To want you back so desperately. I don’t… I don’t want to kill any of you, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s good to hear.” With Alice’s help, Quentin limped closer to Eliot and Margo. “So what if we just… don’t?”

“Can we trust you, though?” Margo paused briefly in her enchantments to ask, side-eyeing Eliot. “You are mad powered up. You could just wait for us to drop our defenses.”

“It’s the Wellspring. I suppose if I were to stop drinking from it, I would return to a mostly normal mortal man.”

“What the fuck is a Wellspring?” Eliot looked to the others, still weaving his hands fluidly through the air, working the silver spangles emanating from his fingertips.

“It’s the source of all magic,” Alice answered, though how she knew that wasn’t immediately evident. “Isn’t it?”

“Clever,” Martin agreed. “Always so clever, Alice. Yes, the Wellspring is a font of magic that powers worlds, your own included.”

His gaze cut to Eliot, the only one still deliberately working along, pantsless and no less focused for it. Although Eliot pantsless did distract Quentin, admittedly, even in situations like this.

“Mr. Waugh, you don’t know it yet, but a great destiny awaits you here in Fillory, should we all make peace. Perhaps you’d like to hear about it?”

Eliot frowned and muttered, “What does Fillory have to do with me?” His hands never stopped moving, like he was determined to protect them at all costs.

Because he _loved_ them. Quentin couldn’t help that it made him glow inside to think that.

“Shockingly, you’re fated to be its High King, should I not kill you before you claim your throne.” Martin practically purred it, like he knew the effect that would have on Eliot. “You’ll all be kings and queens together, ruling Fillory as children of earth. And I will…abandon my schemes in favor of living out my years more peacefully.”

“Why do I not believe that?” Eliot asked, looking to Quentin. “Why would Fillory be ruled by children from earth? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It’s… it’s a thing. It’s true.” Quentin said as he reached Eliot and put his hand on his back, not to stop him but to encourage him. “Eliot would be High King? Can I be a king too?”

Margo rejoined Eliot to support him. “Think you’re the High Queen, Q. I should be king, Alice could be queen, but we’ll have this either way. Why should we let you live?”

“Because none of you really wants to kill me. Besides, I’m not doing anything, am I?” Martin folded his arms and grinned. “Also, I really don’t want to see your live sex show.”

“Point. Now that I’ve thought about it, it seems squicky. Let’s just not and say we didn’t.” Eliot gathered the power he and Margo had generated, looping the silvery glowing strands around his fists as his elegant hands stayed busy moment by moment. “But we can’t just leave you unsupervised, can we? We have no assurances you’re actually reformed.”

“Except,” Martin said, raising a finger as he made his point, “That I gave you an entire year to prepare to face me, and never initiated damaging action against anyone but Quentin, against whom my fury was…well, middling at best. Certainly I obliterated you in myriad timelines, but I learned something in the last, and I’m getting tired of the obsessive, damaged rut I’ve gotten into. Let’s try something new, shall we?”

“That easily?” Eliot asked, still pulling the magic between his hands like taffy. Quentin had to squint against the gleaming light radiating from it.

“Well…” Martin looked to Alice for some reason and smiled just a bit. “I did capture the person responsible for making me into a monster. I trust no one will interfere in justice being done?”

“Christopher Plover is here?” Quentin couldn’t help but feel excited, but then he remembered what he’d done and frowned. “Wow, this is all just… so much. But um, I guess… I mean… I don’t object to justice, I guess. I’m really sorry for what happened.”

Margo gave a half shrug. “String up the pedo, I’m good with it. I’ll help.”

Alice looked a little squeamish and pressed closer to Margo. “You deserve closure,” she said quietly.

“I’m not going to stand between you and your righteous anger,” Eliot said finally, looking at Quentin as if taking his cues from him. Then he looked back to Martin. “No wanton murder or destructive sprees, not here in Fillory, and not on earth. We don’t _want_ to kill you, but we will honestly murder a bitch if it comes to it.” He glanced at Quentin and Alice and clarified, “By ‘we’, I mean myself and Margo, but Alice and Quentin would help us, and that’s a lot for you to stand against. So let’s call it a détente.”

Martin smiled a little, as if pleased with them. “With such wisdom, you will prove very successful rulers of Fillory, I have no doubt.”

“We should… we should make a bond, right? Something to hold him to and that he can hold us to. The, uh, Word as Bond spell should do it?” Quentin looked anxiously at Martin. He really didn’t want to have to kill him. Or kill anyone. “And you can make it with me. It sounds like, in a weird way, we have history, right? I’m the one you most wanted to kill. But you mourned me, so… so I feel like….”

“That you attract monsters?” Martin eyed him and shook his head, sparing a glance at Eliot. “If you only knew. But that shouldn’t be an issue this time around. Word as Bond, let’s go.”

Quentin turned to Alice. “Can you word it? They’re unbreakable, but you can build in loopholes and you’re… really smart. And all four of us are the best team together, so um… paper. I should um…”

He reached into his ever-present messenger bag and pulled out a sheet from a notebook along with a pen.

Margo took them both from Quentin and sat on the ground to start drawing the sigil while Alice outlined the circumstances and consequences in a very laborious and detailed fashion.

While they worked, Quentin went to Eliot and pulled his pants up, giving his groin a quick stroke for keeping the magic going while they negotiated the deal.

“I love you,” Quentin whispered, and the magic Eliot was handling sent up a flare.

Eliot smiled at him, expression tender and lusty at the same time. “Thanks for covering my ass, Q.”

Quentin had the distinct feeling some serious banging was in his future, sex magic or not.

Then Alice fell silent, a fact Quentin only noticed when she addressed him. “Quentin, we’re ready.”

Martin rubbed his hands together, apparently delighted by the proceedings. “Yes, Quentin, we’re ready.”

The sigil was very tidily done, and Margo looked proud of it. “Not to brag, but my girlfriend is not just hot but the smartest.”

Despite Margo’s confidence, Alice looked a little queasy, but Quentin was pretty sure that was just Alice’s second-guessing and nerves. Ideally, she would’ve had weeks to prepare. Quentin felt for her; he hated being put on the spot, too.

He took Alice’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I trust you.”

Then he released it and took the paper to the edge of the ward. This was it. He had to trust in Martin’s goodwill, which he didn’t really know whether he should or not. The boy in the books, of course he would. The monster who apparently murdered him creatively thirty-nine times, not as much.

But he’d only heard _of_ that person. “I’m trusting the boy you were, the boy I think you still are despite the rage. The understandable rage.”

Quentin didn’t want to die. He was familiar with the feeling of wanting to die, though. He wasn’t _afraid_ to die. His attempt had changed that for him forever.

Strategically, Martin could take Quentin down, and it would break the chain. But then, apparently Eliot, Margo, and Alice had restarted the timeline before to get him back. The thought made him misty momentarily, and he took a moment to feel his feelings before he stepped through the ward.

He held his hand out to Martin to shake. “It is very nice to meet you, even if it’s kind of scary.”

Martin squeezed Quentin’s hand firmly and pumped it a couple times. “A pleasure, Quentin Coldwater. Certainly we meet this time under better circumstances than previously.” His skin was cool and dry, not quite human, but at least there weren’t moths fluttering around his face at the moment, so there was that.

“Okay, so blood.” Quentin rattled around in his bag until he found something sharp—a pair of scissors, because they came in surprisingly handy in all kinds of circumstances—and pulled it out. He nicked his finger and handed the scissors to Martin.

“Blood,” Martin agreed as he pricked his own finger. He squeezed the tip until a drop welled up and then handed the scissors back to Quentin handle-first, perfectly polite. That he could still bleed was reassuring at least; he wasn’t entirely inhuman. Yet. Maybe never, now.

They activated the sigils with blood and then pressed the bases of their thumbs over the patterns that bound them from destroying one another and the world, perhaps.

Relieved, Quentin looked up at him, smiling. “Thanks, Martin. Mr. Chatwin. Um… Okay, so no one dies.”

“On that note, be careful with the thrones at Whitespire. I may have cursed them.” Martin gave them each a mischievous look and then vanished.

That was good to know.

Quentin turned around and threw his hands up in victory. “Fillory, bitches!”

Eliot laughed and reeled in the magical energy he’d been holding as a ward, way more of it than Quentin thought should be strictly possible, but if Fogg was right and all the sex had been powering them up and syncing them… Well, Eliot was probably _very_ juiced up right now.

Quentin blushed just thinking about it. First there’d been Ibiza, and then that cruise, and then the _rest_ of vacation, and without classes, there really wasn’t anything to do but have sex, and… Well.

The giant silver aura around Eliot seemed like a testament to all their banging. Eliot looked very smug about that.

“So. High King. Do I get a castle? Where do we report for royal duty?”

Alice cleared her throat. “Castle Whitespire isn’t far from here. Someone should probably report back to Brakebills that we didn’t die horribly.”

“Why? They’ll figure it out when Martin Chatwin the Moth-Man doesn’t come back to terrorize Brakebills.” Eliot paused thoughtfully. “Or they’ll assume it was mutual destruction. I doubt Fogg would miss us. Well, _me_. Maybe Jane Chatwin will come looking for us, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“Jane might like to know Martin isn’t… killing us? Or dead? The Word as Bond should cover her from being killed too, right? It could be healing. Though… I guess if she gets it in her head to kill him…but he’s her brother, right? So…”

Quentin knew things weren’t always as good as he thought. Often they weren’t as _bad_ as he thought either, which was why he liked to check in so much.

Either way, he bounded over to Eliot to hug him and hold him tightly because they’d survived and because he was alive and was so happy to be in this moment.

Margo got up and joined in the hug with Alice. “We’ll go back and let them know. We can meet you back at the rainbow bridge. Gotta get our crowns. Royalty, bitches.”

“Rainbow bridge? That sounds just _excessively_ queer. No wonder I’m fated to be High King.” Eliot kissed Alice’s temple and then gave Margo a slow, sweet kiss on the lips before releasing them and turning his attention on Quentin.

“I guess it’s time for you to tell me everything I need to know about your favorite nerd subject. Are all your dreams coming true, or do I need to blow you too?”

Alice made a disquieted sound and reached for the button case. “We’ll just—”

Quentin released it into Alice’s care and gave her a quick hug and Margo one, too. She playfully squeezed his ass before vanishing with Alice.

He returned to Eliot and pulled him into a deep kiss. “All my dreams are coming true, and that includes you blowing me. Oh my god, Eliot, we’re in Fillory! Do you think Margo was joking about me being High Queen? Because I’d totally take it, but it _is_ second in command. She had to know that when she said it, didn’t she? I met two Chatwins today! I’m in _Fillory!_ ”

So he was losing his cool a bit, but Eliot claimed to like that. Judging by the smitten look on his face… Well, he hadn’t been lying. He loved Q. He’d said so.

Blushing, Quentin took El’s hand and started walking, explaining the new world as they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've enjoyed this crazy ride, leave us a comment. ♥ We love y'all. Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for an update to Sound & Color (as well as some Eliot-in-lingerie smut that's forthcoming because we can't control ourselves).


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